Mohr's Circle
by fortunesque
Summary: While Six is strongly convicted that she has done the right thing in securing independence for New Vegas, problems arise, and she desperately scrambles to hold her city, friendships, marriage, and her very life together. *sequel to Newton's Third*
1. Chapter 1

A/n: Hello, friends! This is the sequel to Newton's Third. While it was nice to take some time off from writing, a month has been quite long enough. I hope to see you all back for this story too :)

Random aside: I have a Pinterest if y'all want to connect? My username is "fortunesque", same as it is here. I won't be upset if nobody bothers to look, though XD

* * *

**Mohr's Circle- **_a representation of the state of stress at a point. _

* * *

Being married didn't mean much in New Vegas, except that someone was in a committed relationship. There were no government benefits like those of the NCR, nor were there strict punishments for stealing someone's wife like in the Legion. Most Mojave couples were fine with this; after all, it was often that tough circumstances brought them together, and they were content to live together and raise their children, farm, cattle, or what-have-you. Vulpes and Six raised a constant ruckus, and not much else. Words like 'husband' and 'wife' felt strange in their mouths. She was still standoffish, and he was still anxious.

So when Vulpes and Six declared that they were married, nothing changed.

Vulpes should have known that his enraptured feelings wouldn't last forever, and that he would have to put actual work into what he was doing. Perhaps, she loved him all along, and that was why things returned to as they were before when she said it. Were mere words so powerful? He liked to think so; given the immense elation he felt when she uttered them. But she was gone half the time, anyway, trying to flatter or intimidate the Brotherhood of Steel to join her. Vulpes didn't believe it would be possible; they would only talk to Six, and only if Veronica was with her.

He sighed and stared down into his drink. Vulpes was having vodka more often, lately. He quickly lifted his shirt to look down at his stomach, and his heart sank as soon as he saw the roll of fat hiding his once flawless physique.

"What are you looking at?" the Butcher grumbled.

Vulpes looked up to the doorway, watching as Lanius entered the cocktail lounge. The man stood in front of him and crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.

"I'm getting fat," Vulpes lamented.

The Butcher stepped forward to his seat at the bar and yanked his shirt upward to see.

"That's your skin wrinkling, you idiot," he growled, "You're sitting down. You look the same as you always have." Lanius let go of the shirt in disgust.

"Why are you here anyway?" Vulpes frowned, his pity-party effectively ruined.

The Butcher ignored him for a moment as he walked down the aisle behind the bar, examining the various bottles that lined the shelves. A particular whiskey from the lower shelf – barbarian swill that it was – caught Lanius' eye and he took it.

"Am I permitted to drink?" he asked, looking at Vulpes.

"Why should I care?" Vulpes countered. He didn't even own this place.

"When I drink," Lanius explained, "things get broken."

Intriguing.

"I just live here," he shrugged.

It wasn't exactly the answer Lanius was looking for, but he didn't care, judging from the fact that he uncorked the bottle as soon as the words left Vulpes' mouth. The Butcher sat in the stool next to Vulpes and took a long gulp of the cheap whiskey. Vulpes couldn't help but cringe; it had to taste disgusting.

"I plan on getting trashed," Lanius clarified.

Vulpes shrugged and sipped his drink.

"I have never been that drunk before," he admitted, "buzzed, but only out of necessity to fit in."

"Then I'm not going to make you become an apostate like me," Lanius frowned, "so behave."

Vulpes laughed out loud as Lanius shot him a quizzical look. He sobered immediately as he realized that he hadn't told Lanius the truth about Mars and Caesar yet. It wasn't that he meant to put him off; rather, he meant to come up with the opportune time to let him know. He supposed that moment was then and there. Vulpes took another sip of his drink and smacked his mouth at the unexpected amount of vodka that hit his tongue. The drink separated.

"Another question," Lanius grumbled, "Why are you so hormonal?"

The question wasn't even 'something seems to bother you'. Lanius was calling him a woman, which was completely preposterous. Vulpes frowned at him; perhaps, he would wait until the man was drunk to tell him, watch him destroy everything in the lounge, and then get him in trouble with Six. He turned to look at the other man, and didn't have the heart to be so cruel, despite everything Lanius had done to him. Vulpes blamed Six for this disgusting, newfound conscience.

"You were right to mistrust me," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lanius frowned. He eyed the bottle in his hands with suspicion.

"I lied to you and everyone else for years," Vulpes replied.

The Butcher stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"It wasn't out of contempt," he explained, "rather, it was out of respect, and the belief in a higher goal. The goal of Caesar was my priority, in everything that I did."

"Just say it," Lanius interjected.

"You really want me to?" Vulpes asked, "This is more painful than ripping off a bandage, you know. In fact, it is far worse than having your shoulder put back into its socket. It is something that requires tact, and understanding."

Goodness, he was getting chatty. He had to stop drinking.

Lanius gripped his bottle and appeared ready to club him with it. Sighing, Vulpes figured he ought to get it out of the way.

"Caesar found a book on Rome," he announced, "and made everything up. His claim that he was the Son of Mars was a fabrication in its entirety. He told me himself, years ago."

Vulpes narrowly dodged the fist that headed for his face. He leaned back to stare up at the enraged face of the Butcher. He had only seen him this furious once before, and that was when the man had him sentenced to death.

"You told me to just tell you," Vulpes accused, backing away until his chair nearly tipped. "Nobody knew. Do you really think I would betray Caesar for anyone?"

His answer came in a rebuking slap across the cheek. It was gentle, as far as a slap was concerned, but equally humiliating.

"Then you'd better drink more," Lanius grunted, "because there's no judgment for it." He offered a faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. Though whether he was going to betray him, or was trying to save face, Vulpes couldn't tell.

"Drink," the Butcher ordered.

Vulpes was disgusted as he found himself obeying and downing the last of his vodka and sarsaparilla. He wondered why he was listening as Lanius poured him another drink, this time a short glass of nothing but vodka. Then, he started drinking that as well.

"This is disgusting," he protested, "and you are a disgusting, vile human being."

Drink upon drink was poured for Vulpes, and he didn't stop until his head was swimming.

"How's that feel?" Lanius asked, leaning in too close. His eyes were wide and conspiratorial.

"My brain is aroused," he mused. Glancing down at the bulge in his lap, he chuckled. "Both of them."

Lanius found this hilarious and began laughing – genuinely laughing – and couldn't stop. Vulpes looked on in wonder; he had never seen the man laugh in amusement or joy before.

"Have more to drink," the Butcher chuckled, "it'll go away."

This seemed like sound advice. Six wasn't expected back for days, and truthfully, Vulpes was tired of sleeping in a bed by himself. To his muddled mind, it was an excellent solution.

After three more drinks, Vulpes began to wonder when it would take effect.

* * *

Graham looked up from his reading as the suite's intercom beeped. Each of the room's occupants looked at each other, wondering who would be the one to stand up and take the call. Neither the praetorians nor Arcade made a move, and Graham sighed.

"Is Mrs. Courier available?" came a voice, thick with a wasteland dialect. "It's the Gundersons calling."

Graham was within a foot of the intercom, ready to press the button.

"No sir!" Yes Man chirped, answering for him.

"How about the man of the house?" the caller asked.

Graham was about to leave, when the robot's next words made him freeze.

"He's had a handful of drinks," Yes Man replied, "but I'm sure he could hold up a halfway decent conversation."

He didn't need to hear more. Graham pressed the button to summon the elevator, stepped in, and directed it to the cocktail lounge. Idle hands were the devil's tools, and Vulpes had been idle for too long.

The elevator dinged and opened; Graham didn't have to look far. Vulpes sat in a gigantic cluster of chair pillows in a booth, his shirt conspicuously absent. He stared out at the Mojave and leaned into the pillows. On his back, between long rows of flagellation scars, there were angry, red marks from fingernails.

"Put a shirt on," Graham sighed, "you've got company coming."

Vulpes craned his neck to look at him and smiled.

"They should look," he slurred, "they'll never see anything so amazing again."

A plastic bottle sailed through the air to crash onto the table at which Vulpes sat. Graham turned around to see the Butcher grumble about missing. Lanius stepped forward, ran into a bar stool, and froze. Glaring at the stool, he picked it up and threw it behind him, the legs of the stool warping upon impact with the floor.

"You're breaking things, you thick-headed ass," Vulpes accused. The look the Butcher sent him hinted at a promise that he would be next.

Just as Graham readied himself to break up a fight, the elevator dinged and opened. He turned around to face the guests and hoped that Vulpes' training would sober him up enough to hold a decent conversation.

A man in a suit and cowboy hat stepped forward with a smile. His wife trailed in behind him, her entire composure shaken and nervous. She could barely look at anyone, especially Vulpes. And from the ex-frumentarius' mischievous grin, Graham could tell that they all knew each other, one way or another.

"You've gotten me in trouble," the man signed, looking down at the inebriated Vulpes. "They're saying I was in with you lot the whole time. Now we both know that ain't true."

Vulpes laughed, his voice cracking.

"I can issue a statement," he replied, "They love statements almost as much as they love getting their own paper money back after they've printed it."

The man laughed in agreement, and Vulpes offered him a seat. Instead of joining Vulpes on his mountain of pillows, the man grabbed a chair and sat near the table. Vulpes told Lanius to pour the guest a drink, calling him 'the official pourer', and upon watching the Butcher pour a half a glass of straight whiskey, it was no wonder how Vulpes came to be so intoxicated.

"Is it top shelf?" Vulpes asked. He gave Lanius a serious look.

"It was on a shelf," Lanius replied, "does it matter?"

Vulpes looked at him in horror as the guest burst out in laughter and declared that he was fine without a drink. Lanius shrugged and offered it to Graham.

"Mormons don't drink, idiot," Vulpes slurred.

"A Mormon out here?" the man marveled, "you must have done quite a bit of traveling, mister?"

He was looking for a name, and Graham was about to provide one – a false one – before Vulpes spoke up.

"Joshua Graham," he interjected, "and that over there is Sand-Rock."

"Shut up, Foxpaw," Lanius glared.

Their argument dissolved into Latin and a mix of tribal slurs. As they bickered back and forth, Graham sighed. It was a wonder that the Legion lasted as long as it did with these two constantly at each other's throats. He suspected that Ed got a kick out of them continuously outdoing each other for his attention.

"So, 'the' Joshua Graham?" the guest asked, giving him a sideways glance.

Graham frowned at Vulpes and wished that he had kept his mouth shut. Vulpes always liked to be in the middle of things and craved attention.

"God took me back," he remarked, "though I did not deserve it. I found a calling in an unexpected place."

The man offered his weathered, calloused hand to shake.

"Heck Gunderson," the man replied, "Brahmin baron, businessman, dabbler in a bit of farming and mining. It's amazing what folks can do with a rule of law. Have you seen Freeside?"

"Before and after," Graham nodded, "it's been a good change."

"They still don't bathe half as often as they should," Vulpes interjected. Heck Gunderson broke out in laughter and nods, making his wife visibly uncomfortable.

"Now, I've gotta ask," Gunderson chuckled, "Why are you piss drunk before 11am?"

Vulpes pointed an accusatory finger at the Butcher, who had a bottle of scotch tipped against his lips. If Lanius saw this, he didn't make any indication. Graham had the mind to give Vulpes a lecture after the Gundersons left, but he supposed it would fall on deaf ears.

"Why're you asking questions before 11am?" Vulpes asked. He grinned smugly as if he thought of something clever – which he hadn't. By then, Graham was positive that old Ed was rolling in his grave.

"We've got some problems up around the mine," Gunderson nodded, "the deathclaws are coming back. I'll pay well to have them exterminated."

A smile broke out on Vulpes' face, and Graham wondered if he ought to put a stop on the conversation, or if it was too late to do so.

"We can kill them," Vulpes boasted, "you could even stand there and watch us do it. Both of you could. A deathclaw or two isn't much."

"Would be interesting to watch," Gunderson admitted, "I'll take you up on your offer, then."

Graham shook his head. Making blood sport out of deathclaws was exceptionally dangerous. Before he could attempt to talk the visitors out of their agreement, the elevator door dinged and opened. An excited Marcus stepped out, followed by an ambivalent Crassius.

"What's going on?" Marcus asked, glancing around the room.

"We're killing deathclaws," Vulpes announced, "that's what."

Marcus' eyes widened and he broke out into a big grin. Bounding down the stairs, he sat down next to Vulpes and began to excitedly recount a story of Lucius ripping out a deathclaw's toenail – dewclaw, Vulpes insisted – and slitting its throat with it. The story dissolved into a three-way argument between Vulpes, Lanius, and Marcus, with an amused Heck Gunderson asking questions that had three different sets of answers.

"Well, this meeting has clearly dissolved," Gunderson's wife sighed.

"I'd say so," Graham agreed, watching as Crassius sighed and nodded as well.

"Victoria Gunderson," the woman nodded, "the one without an opinion, apparently."

This quickly snapped Heck out of his conversation, and he began to attempt to reassure his wife that it would indeed be safe. She stared dispassionately at him, holding completely still, her silent protest saying more than mere words.

"I'd never let harm befall you or your loyal husband," Vulpes smirked.

Graham watched the woman bristle at Vulpes' emphasis on the word loyal. The conversation hit a lull, and Vulpes took the opportunity to open his mouth once more. He loudly declared – in Latin; God was a merciful God – that he fucked Victoria Gunderson in multiple positions about a year or so back.

Marcus gasped and recoiled in shock, glancing between both Vulpes and a visibly flustered Mrs. Gunderson. He was about to ask a question, but Crassius interrupted.

"These deathclaws are at the mine, correct?" he asked.

"Yep," Gunderson replied, completely unaware of what was going on.

"Give us three days," Crassius nodded, "and we will be there to exterminate them."

The brahmin baron quickly agreed on the deal, and Graham offered to show the Gundersons out before something even worse could happen. Ushering them into the elevator, he let out a small sigh of relief when the doors closed behind them.

"He's not much different when he's not spying," Gunderson shrugged, "it's interesting how sinners and saints can be almost interchangeable at times." He sighed and shook his head.

"Mrs. Courier is going to have to be careful," he added, "a lot of regrets come from having a lonely spouse. I missed my boy growing up, and neglected Vicky."

"You do good work, Heck," Mrs. Gunderson protested, "it's been lonesome at times, but we've managed." She leaned in to hug him, but her eyes were elsewhere. Her guilt was palpable.

"They're both driven," Graham interjected, "that could either help or hurt them. Which it will be, I cannot be sure." He was eager to change the subject away from its dangerous turn.

Heck Gunderson nodded in agreement. The elevator opened on the casino level, and the couple stepped out. Graham ushered them to the door, exchanged quick pleasantries with them, and watched them leave. He wondered when he became the Courier's doorman.

One thing was certain; he didn't do it for Vulpes, who needed to be thoroughly humbled. He did it for the Courier – the gentle, kind young woman that the wasteland needed more of. And given Vulpes' intoxicated condition, it was clear that Six was his moral compass.

He frowned as he rode the elevator back up to the cocktail lounge. The Butcher was becoming a terrible influence on Vulpes. A ding signaled his arrival to his destination, and Graham stepped out of the elevator in hopes of salvaging whatever he could from the situation in the cocktail lounge.

He stepped down the faded vinyl stairs and shook his head. Lanius had wedged himself into a booth to sleep, the table next to the cushion kicked over to provide more room. As he breathed, the silvery-blond hair around his face stirred slightly in a slow rhythm. He was out cold.

After seeing the Butcher for the first time months ago, Graham instantly knew what made Caesar choose him to be the next Legate. Lanius was gigantic, with a deep, powerful voice. His blond hair and blue eyes were reminiscent of old world paintings of Christ. Edward likely loved the idea of such a powerful man bowing before him and believing he was a god. His lies were the only thing that would keep the beast from snapping his neck.

A large part of Caesar's plans – whether he admitted it or not – was subjugating the strongest and brightest men, in order to make himself the best. It was why Caesar initially spared Vulpes, all attachments aside. He wondered if Vulpes was aware of this.

Graham looked over to Vulpes, who was somehow still sitting up. He nursed a bottle of whiskey as Marcus excitedly talked about deathclaw hunting, while Crassius slumped backward on the mound of pillows in boredom. Graham caught the large praetorian's eye and nodded toward the door. Crassius immediately understood and interrupted Marcus to tell him that they ought to go back downstairs. As they left, Vulpes attempted to follow, but he was too inebriated to successfully stand up.

"Just sit down," Graham ordered.

Vulpes flopped back onto the cushions without protest and stared up at him, his expression sad.

"What do you think you're doing?" Graham asked. He crossed his arms, unwilling to give him so much as a tiny bit of an excuse.

Graham was surprised when Vulpes pouted, tucked his legs up by his chin, and hugged his knees.

"I never got to say goodbye," he lamented, his voice taking on a quavering tone.

No. Graham didn't want to deal with this. The man who lit him on fire was emoting over the man who ordered that he be lit on fire.

"I married the woman that killed my father," Vulpes murmured, "so screwed up."

Graham nodded in agreement, gave Vulpes a gentle pat on the back, and then quickly stood to find a bottle of water. Thankfully, there were some behind the counter, presumably kept for the Courier's plant experiments. He brought the bottle back to Vulpes, opened it, and offered it to him. Vulpes looked at the water in suspicion before quickly snatching it away to take a long gulp. When he was done, he handed the bottle of whiskey to Graham.

"Lanius says Aurelius gave him a bottle of this for you," he stated, "but he drank it all before he got into town."

Graham chuckled and accepted the bottle. He would put it back on the shelf later when Vulpes wasn't looking.

"That raider trash is still alive?" he asked, eager that there was a change of subject.

"A centurion, now," Vulpes slurred, "still chewing, smoking, and eating people."

Vulpes finished the bottle of water and lay back on the pillows, his eyelids drooping.

"Don't fall asleep yet," Graham ordered. Vulpes simply turned his back to him and closed his eyes. He curled up in a fetal position and quickly passed out.

Graham sighed and shook his head. At least he made an attempt to have Vulpes drink some water. Still, something had to give with the Courier's negotiations.

* * *

To say her feet hurt was an understatement. Six hauled herself through the desert as quickly as she could in order to try to get back home early. She would surprise her husband with a few days of laying around in bed, only getting out to eat or whatever was important.

Husband. She still couldn't believe she was married, but there it was. Six wore his mark, as well as the ring that he gave her; she was marked as his, from the Legion, to the Mojave, and to the NCR. The thought brought a smile to her face.

"There you go again," Veronica teased, "You're absolutely glowing. I can guess as to why you're practically walking us into the ground."

Six giggled and continued toward the city, her face heating up. She was going to do all sorts of naughty things to Vulpes when she got home.

As they entered Freeside, the Courier began a mental list of what she would do. Maybe, she would find a way to tie him up and touch him all over until he went crazy with want. Or, she could reverse their roles and beg him to take her as hard as he could; she would be so loud that they would hear her all the way down the hall. Nobody would sleep that night until she did.

They quickly passed onto the Strip and walked up the stairs to the Lucky 38. Once inside, Six called out to Yes Man and asked him where Vulpes was.

"He's in la-la land," the bot replied, "I mean, he's in the cocktail lounge."

Six wondered what Yes Man meant, but figured that she would find out soon enough. She entered the elevator with Veronica and pressed both the presidential suite and the cocktail lounge buttons. When they reached the rooms, the Scribe hopped off, allowing Six to ride up to the lounge by herself. With each passing floor, her anticipation grew until the Courier knew that she was going to pounce at her first available opportunity.

The elevator dinged as it opened up at the cocktail lounge. Stepping out, the smell of alcohol hit her full force and made her cover her nose. She glanced about the room and saw tables overturned, booths missing cushions, stools thrown down, and empty bottles and glasses littering the counter. Everyone had one hell of a party and she missed it all.

Sighing, Six took the short stairs down to the seating level of the lounge. To her left, Lanius had crammed himself into a booth to fall asleep, his golden hair a veil across his face. But where was Vulpes?

She walked around to the right, and wondered where everyone else was. Two people couldn't have made such a huge mess, and they certainly couldn't have had that much to drink, especially Vulpes. He never drank much. That was when she saw him.

He was laying back in a booth on a mountain of pillows, his shirt gone to who-knew-where. One arm was dramatically thrown over his face to shield his eyes, and he took deep, slow breaths in his sleep. Six watched him for a while, her eyes trailing down his torso to the jeans that lay low on his hips.

Smirking, she got an idea and crept forward. Six reached Vulpes quietly, without waking him up. As she slowly stuck her hand down his pants, she hoped that her hands weren't too cold. Any second now, he would be awake and ready.

Six frowned when her fondling did nothing. He wasn't dead, was he? She quickly turned in a panic to see his chest rising and falling. She leaned over to be near his face. The strong smell of vodka overpowered his natural scent.

"Hey," Six whispered, her mouth close to his ear.

No response.

The Courier moved his arm away from his face and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm home," she cooed.

Still, nothing.

Six frowned and narrowed her eyes at the sleeping man. Quickly, she removed her hand from his pants and grabbed his nipple for a vicious pinch. Vulpes finally stirred and grunted. His eyes slowly slid open.

"I'm home," Six repeated, leaning in to give him a solid kiss. She tried not to recoil from the smell of alcohol, and succeeded to a point. He did not kiss back, but she figured he was just waking up. Six knew how to get his attention, though.

She swung her leg over one side of his hips, settled down on top of his lap, and dramatically draped herself across his chest. There was a twitch of a smile on his face, but he didn't wake up, at least, not completely. And there was definitely no reaction 'down there'.

Six stared at him in confusion; he was always ready to be with her, and if he wasn't, it would take him only a few seconds. The Courier watched as Vulpes fell asleep again and huffed in indignation. She came back early for nothing.

Six quickly stood and stared down at the man who clearly had replaced her husband with someone else. He never turned down the opportunity to be intimate with her. Besides that, Vulpes had never been one to get wasted.

A loud snore behind her made the Courier turn around. Lanius shifted in his sleep and settled back down. Six narrowed her eyes; this had to be his doing.

She wasn't stupid; she saw the glances he sent Vulpes' way. Their bickering was another form of flirting. She made sure to let Lanius repeatedly know that Vulpes belonged to her by accidentally letting him catch them in intimate encounters.

Perhaps, she would have to do more.

"Where'ya goin?" Vulpes slurred. Six snapped her attention back to him.

"Downstairs," she huffed, "to be with the people who care about me."

"M'm not downstairs," he replied. Vulpes slumped in his seat, his legs bracing against the floor in an attempt to keep himself from sliding all the way down. His lap looked inviting. Maybe this was her chance.

Six went back to straddle him and kissed her way down his chest. Vulpes let out an appreciative grunt and laid back on the cushions. Her hand snaked down to cup him through his pants.

"Can't" he grunted, "s' broken. Vodka."

"Fix it," Six ordered.

"Can't," he repeated.

Six narrowed her eyes at him. She left early and practically ran through the desert specifically to come back to attend to her – their – physical needs.

The Courier recoiled in disgust and stormed off, her husband calling her a brat the last thing she heard as she disappeared into the elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

A/n: Sorry it's taken me so long to update. In between waking up to a dead pet on my birthday, to starting classes, and a whole host of other things, it's been tough to find the time to write. I wanted to thank everyone who read and/or reviewed the first chapter. You are all amazing!

* * *

Goodsprings was the town that never complained. They couldn't, after all, not when there were poor areas like Freeside and Westside that needed legitimate government help. There was Sunny Smiles and Cheyenne to take care of things, as well as Cass and Canyon Runner.

At least, that was what Cass gathered. But she wouldn't be able to do shit-all soon, not with a brat on the way. This left a single sheriff, a dog, and a Legion messenger in charge of protecting the town. Cass wouldn't be down on her husband, though; he was a hell of a lot better than the average fighter she had seen. Still, if trouble came – real trouble – the town would be in for a world of hurt.

The front door to the porch swung shut with a loud bang and Cass jumped. Canyon Runner sheepishly stepped into the house. Someone really had to fix that damn door, but the supplies for it couldn't be found in town, and neither of them was handy enough to figure out a replacement.

She watched as he washed his hands in a nearby basin and splashed some water on his face. He walked over to the fridge and grabbed a sandwich that she made that morning, in between bouts of illness.

"Been able to eat?" he asked, giving her a nod.

"Some bread," Cass replied. Canyon Runner shook his head and sighed.

"Bread's no good," he said, "you've got to have some meat – mantis, chicken, bighorner, something."

Her stomach lurched at the thought, and judging by the worried look on his face, she must have looked ill as well.

"You know me better," she grunted, "Was damn near carnivorous before."

Canyon Runner chuckled and sat down at the table.

"Thought of any names yet?" he asked.

"Can't think of any," she sighed, "girls are tough to name."

"It's a boy," he quipped, "so you don't have to worry."

Cass rolled her eyes and put her hand on her stomach. She knew a girl was in there, but she would play along anyway.

"And what would you name a boy?" she asked, giving him a sideways glance. If he said 'Vulpes', she would kick his ass into next week, pregnant or not.

Canyon Runner stared out the window in thought before turning his gaze to her.

"Lucius," he decided.

Cass tilted her head in confusion. She had heard that name before, but she wasn't sure where.

"What kinda guy was this Lucius?" she asked.

"I never met him in person," Canyon Runner admitted, "but his reputation was absolutely spotless. He was the head of the Praetorians, and the most loyal man there was."

So, it was just another man that was known to be a good fighter and blind to the cause. Charming. Her husband must have sensed that she was unimpressed.

"He was known to be kind in excess to his wife," he remarked, "and this is a virtue I wish to be passed down to my son."

"That's daddy's job," Cass chided, "and so far you're doing a damn good job of it. Girls don't need to be without a father."

Canyon Runner didn't bother to correct her and instead stood from the table and approached her for a quick kiss. But his breath smelled like mantis; Cass gagged and turned away.

"You're sure this is normal?" Canyon Runner frowned.

Cass nodded as she made a desperate attempt to catch her breath.

"It should go away after a while," she sighed, hoping that it would. She was sick of being sick.

Canyon Runner sighed and left to work outside. Without Cass being able to work, he had to do extra in order to make sure they had food. It made her feel terrible, and she hoped that the sickness would go away soon, so she could do her share. In the meantime, she would do what she could around the house. Sighing, Cass supposed she could do some mending.

She walked into the bedroom and picked up an old pair of jeans, a needle, and thread. Bringing them back to the kitchen, Cass began to carefully sew a patch onto the knee. Never in her life had she expected that she would have been a pregnant housewife, doing mending while her husband worked outside.

The needle pricked her thumb and Cass swore loudly. They couldn't even afford a damn thimble after buying the house with what she scraped together. Still, it was work – honest work, nonetheless, and work that wasn't dangerous.

She turned her head toward the door at the sound of raised voices outside. Frowning, Cass stood and grabbed her shotgun; Powder Gangers must have shown back up again. Her suspicions were confirmed when she left the house.

They brought more this time; three gangers stood in front of Canyon Runner, while two others stared Sunny Smiles down.

"Or you'll what, motherfucker?" the leader drawled.

"I don't have to say what I'll do," Canyon Runner intoned, "It won't be good, though." His voice was quiet and low.

The ganger noticed her standing in the doorway with her shotgun and laughed.

"That your wife, boy?" he asked.

Canyon Runner clipped out a short, 'yes'. The man turned to his cronies and chuckled.

"You know what's good about a preggo?" he laughed, "Can't get 'em knocked up again."

The axe that her husband held arced upward at the man, embedding itself in his groin. Chaos erupted as Sunny Smiles opened fire on the armed members of the group. One ganger ran at Canyon Runner with a machete, but he was grossly outclassed. With a quick flip of the axe, the man was disarmed and at her husband's mercy.

"You won't be knocking anyone up ever again," Canyon Runner growled, "you'd better leave."

"This town doesn't tolerate that kind of talk," Sunny Smiles added.

The remaining Powder Gangers gathered their gravely injured friend and limped out of town to nurse their wounds, and to likely plan their revenge. Sunny Smiles shook her head at the retreating men and holstered her rifle.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Cassidy?" she asked.

Cass laughed and nodded. She had heard much, much worse threats before. The notion that folks had taken to calling her, 'Mrs. Cassidy' tickled her as well.

One by one, the townspeople opened their front doors and stepped out onto their porches. They stared at the retreating figures in fear and Cass sighed. Everyone in this town was scared. It was their dirty little secret that the rest of Vegas didn't know about.

"Now they'll be back for sure," one of the farmers lamented. Others agreed, and Cass wondered if they were going to blame her and her husband for this trouble.

Canyon Runner stared unmoving at his bloody axe. It took Cass calling his name for him to snap out of his trance.

"How many more are there?" he asked.

"Powder Gangers aren't a small bunch," Sunny sighed, "thirty or so? Probably more."

He nodded slowly in thought as the people of Goodsprings grumbled amongst themselves about new folk messing things up. They were doomed, the lot of them. The security tax would be raised, if the gang didn't come into town and shoot the place up.

"Security tax?" Cass asked, "You've been paying them off?"

"Keeps em out of the way," Doc Mitchell admitted, "they come by, dry up the place, take some caps, and they're gone. I'm sure they keep the scorpions out, and that ain't half bad."

"Raided my fridge the other day," one of the farmers nodded.

Cass stared at the town, incredulous. Six wouldn't stand for that shit in the least. These guys had to know that.

"Why haven't you asked for help?" she asked, "the Courier would be more than happy to help you guys out, especially since you saved her life."

"We're fine," Doc Mitchell nodded, "don't need to bother the city folk."

She shook her head and ducked back into the house. Grabbing a bag, Cass began to stuff things into it. Bottles of water were jammed next to clothes. From a life on the road, she was able to pack a bag quickly and efficiently while her mind went elsewhere. It didn't take more than a minute before she was back outside. The town was just starting to go back to their lives.

"What's that bag for?" Canyon Runner asked. Some of the townspeople turned around to look.

"I've been piss poor and homeless my whole life," she hissed, "and now that I've found a home, I'll be damned if I let that get taken away from me."

She grabbed Canyon Runner's machete from the doorway and handed it to him. Cass gave him a quick peck on the cheek and headed off down the road. He could join her, or he could not; the choice was his.

"You leaving, Mrs. Cassidy?" Sunny Smiles called.

Cass turned around to see her husband catching up to her. Good man; she was training him well.

"Fuck no!" Cass shouted, "If y'all aren't going to ask for help, then I am. This shit's ridiculous. Trust me; you aren't going to be bothering anyone on this."

With that, she trudged down the highway toward New Vegas and quickly called a request over her shoulder that someone water the plants while she was gone. Canyon Runner walked next to her, surveying the road for trouble.

"You're good," she chuckled, "damn good. If we didn't have more pressing matters, I'd fuck you where you stand."

Canyon Runner looked elated and disappointed, all within a short second. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked at a stone on the road.

"Don't make threats that you won't follow through on," he grumbled.

She laughed and continued onward.

"As I was saying," Cass remarked, "we're going to need 'can kill a small army' kind of good. So we're going to need to get your boyfriends to help us out."

He frowned at her calling the other Legionaries his 'boyfriends', but knew better to even start to correct her, especially since she was pregnant.

Hell had no fury like a pregnant woman, and the Powder Gangers pissed Cass off. A little payback was in order.

* * *

Vulpes couldn't believe that he agreed to do something so reckless. While the idea of showing off to the non-fighting New Vegas workers had some appeal, a nest of deathclaws was no joke. And now that he had everyone's attention, he couldn't help but showboat, if but just a little. He hoped to take one out on his own with just one shot from his revolver. If he timed it right and hit a precise spot, it was possible, especially with a weapon of such a strong caliber.

Out of the members of his hunting party, he was the smallest; even Marcus, who was a few inches shorter, was larger than he was. For a Legionary, he was small; to people on the Strip, women he had been with – his wife, most importantly – he was considered lean, toned, or whatever words they would use to describe the fact that he couldn't bulk up for anything. Next to the other Legionaries in his group, his size was rather noticeable, at least to himself.

The group slowly advanced toward the deathclaws' last known location, their weapons ready. Vulpes and Graham were ranged fighters, and they would count on the Praetorians and Lanius for support. He checked again to make sure that he had everything ready, and each moon clip was where it was supposed to be.

The first beast crept out of its cave and sniffed the air. Behind him, the crowd of onlookers held still in excitement and fear. Vulpes removed his revolver from its holster, took aim, and fired. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride as the deathclaw crumpled to the ground; he downed it in one shot, just as he wanted. Perhaps, he could do it again.

Angry deathclaws burst from their cave, alerted to the presence of intruders. They smelled blood in the air, and they heard the gunshot. The Praetorians and Lanius charged forward, ready to fight the beasts. Claws met steel as the fight began. Within seconds, the Butcher already claimed his first kill. He didn't stop there, though. He charged the next one, and Vulpes wondered if he could steal the man's kill.

Snickering, he aimed at the deathclaw's eye and fired. The creature fell quickly, just as the Butcher's blade whooshed through the air. Lanius glanced back at Vulpes to give him a glare, and he laughed. He was going to do that again.

Vulpes tracked down another deathclaw that was headed toward Marcus. As the praetorian caught the creature's hand, he wound back to give it a vicious punch in the face. A shot rang out and Marcus' fist connected with a dead deathclaw. Vulpes burst out in laughter; this was fun.

"Stop playing around," Graham snapped. He stuffed a clip into his pistol and continued to fire.

Sighing, Vulpes aimed at a deathclaw that wasn't nearby. In between bouts of laughter, he attempted to take aim. When his shot went off, it missed its mark, a bullet embedding itself in the deathclaw's arm. Cursing, he attempted another shot, and got the creature in the neck. It was close, but not good enough, and the deathclaw swiveled to give him a glare. It knew what he had done.

The deathclaw ran out from the pack and bounded toward Vulpes. He took this in stride, however; having one shot left was more than enough to take care of it. Pulling the trigger, he watched in horror as the bullet missed its mark. He was out of ammo and there was no time to reload.

As he drew his ripper, he was knocked to the ground. The blade's teeth ground into the floor of the quarry as it was knocked away. He heard the crowd gasp in shock. Six screamed in horror and unloaded an entire clip into the deathclaw; the smaller caliber had little effect. He had a hidden knife in his boot.

Vulpes moved quicker than he ever remembered, drew the blade, and stabbed the deathclaw in its eye socket. It roared and stumbled backward, giving him the time to make a dash for his ripper. He wasted no time in making a swing at the wounded deathclaw. At the same time his weapon plunged into the beast's hide, it was hit with an invisible force. The sound of his ripper changed to a loud grinding noise, and he quickly shut it off. Vulpes didn't think a deathclaw's hide was that tough.

He pushed the dead animal's body aside and saw Lanius on the other side. It made sense, then; Lanius was trying to steal his kill in return. Vulpes narrowed his eyes at the other man while Six attacked him with a gigantic hug.

"Who was first?" he asked.

Six stepped back and blinked at him. She had to have seen who struck the killing blow.

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"Yes," Vulpes nodded.

"You almost died!" she shouted, waving her arms in exasperation.

"I was first," Lanius frowned.

Vulpes sheathed his blade as Marcus jogged over with a bloody deathclaw dewclaw in his hand.

"Don't think so," Vulpes shrugged.

"Did you see it?" Marcus beamed, "Crassius got one with its own toenail, just like Lucius."

"Dewclaw," Vulpes corrected, "and I was first, bringing my kill count to three." He stared the Butcher down, his stomach knotted in excitement. Mouthing off to him was deliciously dangerous.

"First like the one you stole from me?" Lanius growled, "Counting that one, I did four."

"I'm pretty sure you killed two," Vulpes replied, "I killed four."

"You just said that you killed thr –"

"Would you like a tooth from one?" Vulpes asked, ignoring Lanius and ushering his beautiful bride over to one of the fallen beasts. The fun part was winding him up until he got a certain, furious look.

Six nodded shyly, reminding him of when they were sort-of-dating. He removed his boot knife from its eye and set about removing a small fang from the deathclaw's jaws. After prying it out of the creature's mouth, he handed it to Six, who looked at it in awe.

"You can put that next to the mark I gave you," he nodded. Not only was she his, but he was also very capable of protecting and providing for her. If anyone asked her what it was, she could tell them that her husband killed deathclaws, and that was one of their teeth. That would keep everyone away from her.

Heck Gunderson broke out from the crowd to congratulate them on their successful hunt. Caps were handed to each of them as he thanked them for ridding the mine of the deathclaws, as well as allowing folks to watch.

"What should I do with this?" Crassius questioned, looking down at the sizable sum of caps.

"Get drunk," Lanius replied, as if it was the obvious answer. Vulpes' stomach churned at the thought; he was quite turned off from alcohol from the last time.

Heck Gunderson laughed and motioned his son to come forward. Ted shuffled out of the crowd and handed his father a bag before disappearing in a huff.

"Couldn't help but see you like whiskey, Butcher," he chuckled, "Mrs. Courier told me that you're a reformed raider, and I'm gonna tell you that we welcome anyone who would want to help us out and do good. So, this is for you."

Reformed raider? Vulpes chuckled to himself as Lanius received the bottle of whiskey. He supposed that having the Monster of the East living under the Lucky 38's roof would be too much for the people of New Vegas to handle. That made Vulpes the most infamous man in the Mojave, and he couldn't decide if he loved the controversial attention, or if he wanted to be universally adored and accepted. Still, it was a smart move on Six's part.

He glanced over to her and watched her talk with the Gundersons. Six bounced in excitement with whatever she was saying; he couldn't hear it over the jiggling of her ass. His vision focused in on her leather pants – the way the seam ran tightly down the crack of her ass, then meeting the other seams between her thighs over her hot, tight –

"Gimme your money!" was the only thing Vulpes heard before he was tackled into the ground.

He lay in shock on his back, staring up at Marcus, who sat on top of him, grinning ear to ear.

"What? No," Vulpes frowned. Just because they joked around at home did not mean he wanted to do it in public. He had a reputation to uphold, and "wrestles with queers" was not part of it.

"Gimme your money," Marcus insisted.

Vulpes struggled against him, growing angrier by the second. He had been caught at an inopportune time, in the middle of admiring Six, and Marcus was practically rubbing his ass in his lap. The jolt of arousal he felt was nothing short of horrifying.

He fell limp in shock and sheer terror. It happened in public; a man turned him on in front of everyone.

Marcus had him pinned down, his mouth open in a shocked 'o'. He felt it. There was no way he couldn't. He felt it, and based on the sly grin that spread across his face, he knew. The Praetorian's face was red, and he leaned in to quietly speak with him.

"And now there will be rumors swirling about us," Marcus chuckled.

"No," Vulpes ground out, "rumors do not swirl; they are intangible." He wanted going to ignore everything, but the man's smug grin kept him from shrugging the whole thing off.

He jerked forward, catching Marcus off guard. The Praetorian barely blocked the punch that headed toward his face, and Vulpes was irritated that it did not connect; he wanted blood. Untangling himself from Marcus, he stood and turned his back to the crowd.

More irritating was the knowing smile and chuckle that the Butcher gave him as he eyed the obscene bulge against his thigh. He didn't want to deal with this; not now, not ever.

Without preamble, Vulpes left for New Vegas.

* * *

Six stepped into the suite after Vulpes, hoping that he would talk to her. He took off on everyone without a word, and then made a straight path to the Lucky 38. It took quite a bit of effort to catch up with him; when the Courier finally looped her arm in his, she was too out of breath to ask what was wrong. It couldn't have been her, though. He ended up slowing down just for her.

Vulpes grumbled something about needing a shower and disappeared into the bathroom. Six saw this as her chance to corner him. Following quickly, she ducked behind one of the curtains that separated a showering area from the rest of the bathroom. He was already stripping off his clothes.

"Joining me?" Vulpes asked, giving her a quick smile that didn't reach his eyes.

His pants dropped to the floor and Six nodded quietly, her face heating up. He was already halfway ready for her. Though they spent a lot of time making love, each time she saw him naked made her shy.

She bit her lip and began to slowly pull her shirt off. Instead of getting in the shower, Vulpes stood and watched her as she undressed. Six had it in mind to maybe do a little dance like the girls in Gomorrah did, but quickly squashed the idea. She didn't think Vulpes would appreciate her acting like one of those women. So, she started removing the rest of her clothes normally, and it snapped him out of staring at her to turn the water on.

It didn't take the water long to warm up, and soon, they were in the shower. Things seemed like they were back to normal. Six kissed him thoroughly, her soapy hands wandering down his back. Her hand drifted around front to grab his manhood, and he leaned in to her attentions.

"You like this?" she asked. His nipple was at the perfect height, and Six took the opportunity to roll it under her tongue.

"Yes," Vulpes hissed as he began to thrust into her hand.

She took the opportunity to slide her other hand lower, between the muscles of his backside. There was a place, she once read, that some men liked to be touched.

"What about here?" Six asked. She circled her finger around the hole there and he jumped back quickly with a long, drawn out 'no'.

There was an awkward moment where they stood there staring at each other, his erection rapidly deflating. Six was glad that the shower was hot; it would cover up some of her embarrassment.

"That's not a place I want a woman to touch me," Vulpes explained.

She nodded slowly and scooted closer to him so she could get back under the warm water. His answer sounded strange.

"What about a man?" she asked. The question slipped out of her mouth before she could think about what she was saying.

Vulpes turned away from her and stared at the wall.

"Baby," she cooed, hugging him from behind and rubbing herself against his back. He was no longer interested.

"I can't believe you asked that," he murmured. Vulpes avoided answering the question whenever it was asked.

Six pressed herself against him again, running her thumbs over his nipples.

"I'm your wife," she replied, "I just want to know. I want to know everything about you."

He didn't reply, and her touch had no effect. After a while, Vulpes sighed, turned around, and looked down at her.

"You really want to know?" he asked.

Six nodded slowly.

"I don't know," he admitted, "sometimes, there are times where I think things that I shouldn't. But that doesn't matter; I'd never walk out on you."

She couldn't squash the surge of disappointment she felt at hearing him admit it. This wasn't the time to deal with things like this; he should have known before they got married, or at least had an inkling, right?

"Are you alright?" Vulpes asked.

Six snapped herself out of her thoughts, turned to look at his worried face, and melted. This wasn't his fault, and she knew it wasn't as if he chose to look at others in that way. She didn't view it as a flaw like the Legion did, either; whatever people did and said yes to, that was their thing. But they were married, and therefore, exclusive. That was the way these things worked.

She quickly distracted him with a kiss while she formulated her plan. Perhaps, she could do even more with him, and therefore, make him too exhausted to even think of someone else.

Six would be louder, faster, and even more all over him than ever before. She was going to ruin Vulpes for anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

It took them longer to travel to the city, given that Canyon Runner refused to let Cass walk as much as she was able. She wasn't fragile, but after they stopped for the night at a kindly homesteader's place, Cass realized that maybe he was right. But she'd never tell him that.

Another day passed as they walked through the Mojave, and they reached New Vegas just as the sun began to set. The Strip stood as it always had, a small, radiant beacon of light in the middle of the desert. Now that some of the restricted access was done away with, the Strip's success slowly trickled outward to Freeside, creating a safer area for most people. Cass hoped this would spread to the areas controlled by Fiends, and especially Goodsprings. But they would have to help it along, just a little bit.

People milled about Freeside as vendors packed up their shops for the evening. Occasionally, someone would wish them 'good evening', and it made Cass startle each time. It used to be that if someone stopped you, it was to either beg or rob.

"Things changed quickly," Canyon Runner marveled.

"I'll say," she replied, "all everyone needed was just a chance. Look at how they took it."

"Just like us," Canyon Runner smiled, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. He gently led them to the Strip, where the gates opened right away for them. Everything about the Strip looked the same as the day they left it.

Over at the Lucky 38, a securitron wheeled away from the stairs, its screen switching to Victor's. The bot approached them and waved its arms.

"Howdy there!" it greeted, "Mrs. Courier will be very happy that you've come to visit! Come on in!"

Cass followed it up the stairs and into the casino floor. She paused in the doorway as a thought hit her.

"Did you say 'Mrs. Courier'?" she asked.

"Sure did!" the bot replied. Its face switched to Yes Man's.

"Knew it," Cass chuckled.

"I did too!" Yes Man replied, "I also knew that you knew it would happen. Isn't that neat?"

"Creepy, actually," Cass grumbled. She wondered if she would ever get used to the robot overlord thing they had going on.

They stepped into the elevator and rode up to the presidential suite. Cass was excited to see Six, and wondered if she'd be pregnant too. And if she was, Cass would be so happy. Maybe, when things settled down, Six would move with Vulpes to Goodsprings, and their kids could play together.

The elevator doors opened to chaos. Dishes clattered in the kitchen as raised voices tried to shout over the noise. The door to the Courier's room was wide open, revealing dresses, stockings, and blouses scattered throughout the room. In the middle of the bedroom floor, a pair of stiff-looking panties lay next to a torn bra. Cass could smell the scent of sex from out in the hallway.

In the middle of the chaos, Marcus stepped out of the kitchen, shouting a loud, "ave." People began to pour out from the rooms, and Cass was instantly reminded of why the left; she couldn't live so close to folks, cooped up like a pack of city rats.

There was a new one there too – Six always took in the strays – a huge, hulk of a man that turned to Vulpes with a scowl.

"How many Legionaries did you take with you?" the man asked.

Vulpes sauntered over to him.

"A cohort," he smirked.

The man reached over and smacked him across the cheek, a hollow slap sounding throughout the suite. Their eyes met, and Cass wondered if the two would fuck right then and there.

"Is someone going to help me with the dishes or not?" the Courier shouted.

Arcade leaned into the kitchen and quietly told her that they had company. Within a second, Six emerged from the kitchen, her arms wet. She saw Cass immediately and gasped in surprise.

"Hey darlin'," Cass smiled.

The Courier ran over and hugged her tightly, wet arms and all. She was just as Cass remembered, all wide eyes, smiles, and good intentions. Cass couldn't help but notice that Six's stomach was completely flat, and she also couldn't help but notice the surge of disappointment she felt either. They had an 'accident' months back, around the same time she and Canyon Runner had their accident. Maybe, Six would never have a baby; maybe one of them had problems or something.

She felt her eyes misting up and wondered what the hell was going on. Cass shut off the thoughts quickly as the Courier let go to let her hug Veronica as well.

"You're pregnant!" the Scribe squealed.

Cass nodded. She felt the Courier's hand on her belly and couldn't hold back her smile even if she tried.

"You know," Cass sighed, "I don't know why it is, but strangers just walk up to me and think they can touch my stomach."

"But I'm not a stranger," Six pouted.

"Of course not," Cass smiled. She didn't mind the Courier feeling the baby. Six stared at her stomach and frowned.

"There's really a little person in there?" she asked.

Cass gave her a nod. Why wouldn't there be?

"Never seen a pregnant person before," the Courier murmured, "looks uncomfortable."

She was about to say that it was, but thought better of it; Cass didn't want to dissuade Six from having children of her own. That was, if she could.

"Have you had an exam yet?" Arcade asked.

"Yep," she replied, "Doc Mitchell's doing a great job. He's the one that patched Six up, you know."

"Oh, okay," he mumbled, sounding almost disappointed.

"Ya know," Veronica interjected, "We could stand in the hallway, or we could go let the pregnant gal sit down. You've got to be tired."

Cass laughed and followed the Scribe into the kitchen. They were so excited to catch up that they hadn't even bothered to sit down.

Veronica offered Cass a chair, and she sat down for the first time in hours. It reminded her that her feet were sore, as well as reminding her of the terrible truth of why she was there in the first place.

"I wish this were just a visit," Cass sighed, "but it's not. Powder Gangers are muscling their way into town, and we mighta' pissed them off."

It was one hell of an understatement, but Cass didn't know how else to say it.

* * *

Vulpes nodded slowly. The Powder Gangers were a disgusting band of filth, not fit to breathe the air of the free Mojave Wasteland. But Cass was waffling, something she never did. He wagered that this involved something that made her uncomfortable, perhaps something that she wasn't used to yet – like her husband.

"Mighta'?" Vulpes repeated. He glanced over at Canyon Runner and watched as the man grew visibly angry.

"It's the other way around," Canyon Runner clipped, "they've pissed me off. I don't care if they're angry or not."

Vulpes nodded slowly in understanding. They obviously insulted the woman's honor, and therefore, insulted Canyon Runner's honor as well.

"What did they say?" he questioned.

"It doesn't bear repeating," Cass replied.

"No one threatens to rape my pregnant wife," Canyon Runner interjected. He leveled his gaze at Vulpes, who responded with a nod.

"I'm unsurprised," he shrugged, "they're filthy degenerates. It's about time they were purged from the Wasteland. Do we have a motion?"

"Aye!" Veronica chirped, along with Cass.

"A what?" Lanius asked. He leaned against the doorframe, his head coming to just slightly above the top of the door. Given that the standard door was seven feet – just two feet below the standard nine-foot ceiling – he realized that the Butcher was slightly over seven feet tall.

"A motion," Vulpes repeated, "meaning, a vote as to what the group decides. Aye in favor, no in opposition." It was a really basic concept, and he wondered why Lanius didn't know what it meant. Then again, the man had been illiterate until recently.

"I don't need to agree to killing degenerates," Lanius argued, "I kill them without voting on it. Talk is wasted on scum."

"I like that," Cass chuckled, "So, who the hell are you anyway?"

Vulpes frowned. Just because the man was casual with killing did not mean he would speak so casually with her.

"Lanius," the Butcher grunted.

Canyon Runner immediately tensed, but his wife didn't see it. Or, if she did, it certainly didn't faze her. Vulpes suspected the latter.

"The Lanius?" Cass asked, "The man who is rumored to kill someone if they look at you funny?"

Lanius blinked then slowly smiled.

"You have the wrong man," he replied, "If I was the man of whom you speak, you would have been killed."

Vulpes couldn't stop his snort of laughter. Was this Lanius' attempt at a joke?

"What?" Lanius grumbled, staring him down.

"You said that to a pregnant woman," he chuckled, "you're a terrible person."

"Terrible is you," Lanius quipped, "and your incessant need for attention."

"If you didn't want to give it to me all the time," he replied, "then I wouldn't take it, now would I?"

The room was silent as Vulpes found himself stuck between a double meaning and silently pleading that Lanius would drop what he just said. A smirk signaled that the Butcher caught on, the subsequent shake of his head making Vulpes let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

It didn't help that Cass was trying desperately to hold in her hysterics, while Six sent Lanius a level glare. The whole thing was a mess, and he wished he hadn't invited the man back. But conscience – what little, sickening amount he had – told him that he couldn't toss Lanius out on his ass. Frustrated, Vulpes sighed and glanced about the room.

"Look," he grumbled, "we have solidarity on this, correct?"

Everyone nodded in consent, except for one person; his lovely, wonderful, beautiful, and rather naïve wife.

"Now wait," Six protested, "these folks should get a chance to straighten up."

"They did," Vulpes sighed, "in Nipton, even."

The Courier's eyes widened as she stared at him. Vulpes pursed his lips and gave her an impatient nod.

"Oh," she mumbled, "well, that's –"

"Good enough?" he interrupted.

"That was your message, not mine," she concluded.

Vulpes sighed and put his head in his hands. This woman had the strangest rules for the strangest things. She was becoming the red tape that she despised in the NCR.

"They got a message from us," Cass nodded, "Ax to the crotch certainly gives them something to think about."

Vulpes couldn't help but laugh at the grin that spread across Canyon Runner's face. The man was obviously quite pleased with himself, as well he should be.

"If that was your message," Marcus replied, "then they would fools to cross you a second time."

Vulpes shook his head. The Powder Gangers were idiots at best.

"They are fools," he frowned, "we should leave in the morning before they overrun the town."

"I'm fine with going to make sure there's no trouble," Six shrugged, "but I don't see how they would want to bother after what happened."

"I'll tell you what will happen," Vulpes sighed, "they will all go to the town to try to teach them a lesson. We will be waiting, and we will kill them all."

"Unless they surrender," Six interjected. She sent him a level glare and a frown that told him that she was right and he was wrong. The Courier couldn't be further from the truth.

"They won't," he clipped.

Vulpes knew quite a bit of information about the people of the Mojave, given that it was his job as the head of the Legion's intelligence. Or had she forgotten this? It was one thing to ask questions, but questioning him, as well as his correct opinion, was out of line.

"So," Veronica chirped, "thought of any baby names yet?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, stood, and left the room. Vulpes didn't have to turn around to know that Lanius was watching him. He needed to be alone before he said something that he would regret. Vulpes slapped the button on the elevator, trying to ignore the large shadow behind him. But the Butcher called his name, forcing him to turn around.

When he did, Lanius leaned in over him, backing him against the elevator door.

"I can show you how to muzzle that woman," he smirked.

Vulpes was pinned to the door by the Butcher's sheer magnetism. His aqua eyes were warm – too warm, too inviting – and Vulpes caught the meaning of his invitation instantly. Now that the laws of the Legion no longer bound him, Lanius reverted back to tribal leanings. Caesar was insane to have this man, this product of inbred, tribal debauchery, be pronounced the next in line.

The elevator doors opened behind him, making Vulpes stumble backward and fall on his ass in the elevator.

"Lighten up," the Butcher scoffed, "a little fun wouldn't hurt either of you."

The spell was broken, and Lanius was once again a grumpy, scornful man. Without warning, the elevator doors closed, and Vulpes was once again alone. He slowly stood and pressed the button that would take him up to the cocktail lounge.

Vulpes had to leave before he made things worse than they already were. Hopefully, his thoughts would organize themselves quickly, but he suspected not.

* * *

It was dark, the night air bringing a bit of a chill that heralded the beginning of winter. It was a tough time of year, when she would have to help people with frostbite on their legs; there were never enough coverings for everyone to stay warm.

It was nights like this when he visited her the most. He would tell her that it was too cold to spend a night alone, or something to that effect. She'd let him say whatever he wished, and at times, she felt like she could pretend that they were seeing each other. He came to her out of the cold, his legs, face and arms bound with furs. It was a good look for him; he looked dashing, like a woodsman from a fairytale. Each trapping slowly slid off to reveal inch after inch of the palest, softest skin. The rounded end of his nose was always pink – he had to have Asian ancestry somewhere, many generations back – and it was cold when he nuzzled her neck. It made her jump and hurriedly mumble that he was so cold; he would insist that she help warm him up before giving her a hungry kiss, like she was the only other person in existence. It was romantic and twisted, all at once. But she wasn't a princess, and he was far, far from ever being the man of her dreams.

She learned much later that the situation with him was more broken and screwed up than she ever realized. He wasn't a dashing rogue, a harmless pervert, or a tomcat in heat. When he came to her, it wasn't about the sex; it never had been. It was him desperately clinging to the only thing that made him feel human, that made him feel like he was in control, and that he had a choice in who he let touch him. The missing pieces that had been stolen from his childhood were hastily replaced with others and glued back together with every gasp, with each desperate thrust, with every time she drew her nails down the skin of his back.

The cold made his back worse, but now, he wouldn't feel any pain again.

Siri rubbed her swollen belly, her sight blurred by tears. Vulpes gave her one last gift before leaving the world. She did what she could to stay out of sight; it was an unspoken rule that healers, as resources, were not to be touched. They were not meant to bear the Legion's sons.

The door to her small clinic opened and she startled, turning around quickly to see a praetorian in the doorway. He looked down at her belly and frowned.

"Caesar wishes to see you immediately," he ordered.

Trembling, she swallowed and followed quickly after the guard. She never saw any of the Caesars; Vulpes was the highest ranked member of the Legion she ever met. His attentions did, of course, make some of the other slaves jealous. He was the most liberal officer that they knew of, and he had the ear of Caesar.

She followed the praetorian into the Riordan mansion, her achingly cold feet tingling as soon as they touched the warm floors. He didn't stop until they were in front of Caesar's throne room. The guard gave a quick announcement then pushed her into the room. There were men on all sides, each wearing the finest armors the Legion could make. A man sat on the throne, and Siri gasped and quickly knelt down as soon as she saw him. She didn't know who that man was; he didn't fit any of the descriptions she heard of anyone. This man was of a medium height and build, with tan skin, and short, black hair. Almond shaped eyes peered out from a stern brow, and she tried to place the face with someone she may have seen, but she was unsure. Siri was sure that she would have remembered an exotic face like his had she seen it before.

"Is this the one?" he asked, nodding over toward a plain man.

"Yes, Caesar Ossian," the man replied, "the only one I was able to find. He often fulfilled his needs outside of the Legion."

There was a cluck of disapproval from the new Caesar. Siri thought she heard the name Ossian before, but among the guards. It appeared that this man staged a coup against Lanius, and Siri couldn't help but feel joy. Let the Butcher rot in hell for his crimes.

"Woman," Caesar nodded, "Whose child do you bear?"

Siri stared up at the man who was now known as Caesar and bit her lip. His eyes reminded her of something she tried to forget. She saw her father's eyes in that man, and could almost hear his voice – tell the truth, Rosa – and it made her look back down at the floor.

"Vulpes Inculta," she admitted. She'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He nodded, and his eyes softened.

"You have done well, Alerio," Caesar smiled.

"You knew a lot about him," a man off to the side chuckled, "where he went, which women he visited. You knew too much, perhaps. Sounds rather unnatural, doesn't it?"

Alerio recoiled in shock, his face heating up in embarrassment.

"Aurelius!" Caesar snapped.

The man held is hands up in defense and shrugged.

"Teasing never hurt anyone," he bristled, turning his head to the side in mock indignance. The vibrant plumes of his helm jiggled with the movement. This was the fabled Aurelius of Phoenix.

"I'd watch where you throw your accusations, cannibal," Alerio huffed.

Aurelius laughed, the sound quickly turning into a series of distinctive, hacking coughs that didn't belong on a fit, healthy centurion. Siri never finished her training, but she knew emphysema when she heard it.

"Unnatural desires are sins if acted upon," Caesar declared, "Alerio serves Mars, the same as all of us. The same as Vulpes did. The same as you did, allowing him to escape to the West with Marcus and Crassius."

Siri felt her heart leap. Vulpes could be alive. He went west, where he would never see the Legion again. A bitter part of her realized that this meant that he ran off to find the Courier, the woman who betrayed him. He ran off to be with a free woman, and left her in chains with his child – a child that, odds were, wouldn't look like him.

"Was only a matter of time before something happened to make them leave," Aurelius grumbled, "those fags were banging each other for years."

Caesar ignored him in favor of turning his gaze to her once more.

"You carry a blessed child," he announced, "the son of the rightful heir to the throne of the Legion. This child will be raised with this knowledge, and will be trained to take his place as the true Caesar."

Her eyes widened in shock.

"Go get your belongings," Ossian ordered, "and bring them here. You will be where the child can be properly raised."

Siri paused in fright as she tried to think of things she could take from the clinic that could be passed off as hers. But she took too long, and Caesar frowned at her.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Siri shook as everyone in the room stared at her.

"I have no belongings," she admitted. Tears spilled down her face, and she was too terrified to move.

"Then there's no use in going out in the cold," he shrugged. Motioning toward Alerio, he ordered that she be shown to her quarters.

Siri found the strength to stand and followed Alerio out of the room and to her new quarters. Every so often, he glanced at her stomach. When they reached the door, he couldn't hold in his curiosity any longer, and reached out to place his hand on her swollen belly.

"That's really his," he marveled.

She nodded quietly, shaken by his reverence.

"I'm taking over his work," Alerio continued, "I don't think he's dead, but it will be as if he is. He will never come back."

"I didn't know him too well," she frowned. It was a half-truth, and judging by the look on his face, Alerio knew this.

"There will be time to talk about him later," he remarked, "you need rest." He leaned over and opened the door to the room.

Siri nodded and stepped in, unsurprised when the door shut behind her. There was a lamp on the desk nearby, illuminating dust in the air. This room had been unoccupied for a long time.

She cautiously approached the bed and threw the sheets back, shaking them and the pillows out in case there were scorpions and the like. Finding none, Siri blew out the lamp and settled into the bed. She curled up in the sheets, reveling in their softness. She hadn't had this kind of luxury in years. There were pillows too – soft, fluffy pillows. Burying her face in one, she realized with a start that they smelled familiar.

This was his room; the baby inside her seemed to know it too, and began squirming. Siri wasn't going to get much sleep that night.

* * *

Lanius sat in the kitchen of the Lucky 38's presidential suite, nursing a glass of scotch. He stared down at the ice cube in the drink, incredible luxury that it was, and watched as it melted, creating small currents in the amber liquid.

Further down the table, Graham sat like a statue, reading his holy book. He looked the same as he always did, each bandage expertly tucked into the same spot, even after multiple changings. Lanius wondered what the man looked like underneath, and figured it must be similar to a ghoul.

"You have a lot of that," Graham observed.

Lanius glanced back down at his drink.

"Making up for lost time," he shrugged, downing the rest of it in one gulp.

Lanius couldn't give Graham a proper label, and this was irritating. The Graham he knew was mild-mannered, kind, and even caring. The man that he heard of from stories was violent and would go into an unpredictable rage at the smallest thing. He failed at Hoover Dam, because he used the same tactics, and the enemy had caught on.

Then Vulpes – wicked, wicked Vulpes – set the man on fire, all the while knowing that Caesar was just a man, and that Graham was as well. Graham's God, if he truly existed, allowed this, and when Lanius asked Vulpes why, he told him that Graham believed it was punishment for doing wrong. He then asked Vulpes why he thought that Graham's God allowed such a thing, and Vulpes replied with a curt, "There is no God, especially a merciful one." Lanius was in his forties, and he still couldn't decide which opinion was correct.

But Graham was an incredibly fierce warrior. He took out the most deathclaws the other day, something he missed at the time because Vulpes had to intentionally pick a fight with him. Sighing, Lanius stood and left the kitchen. There were too many things to ponder, and not enough answers to fill in the gaps.

He walked toward the bathroom, intent on having a piss then getting off to bed. The next morning, he would have the opportunity to slaughter a band of degenerates, and hopefully continue to show his usefulness – and loyalty – to the Courier. From his time in his new home, he learned a few things:

The Courier did not like him. She especially did not like him around Vulpes. With these two things, he knew that she knew what happened between himself and Vulpes. Lanius was very low in their rankings, and likely ranked even lower than the King's dog that visited every so often. Lanius wasn't used to this, but he would adapt; after all, he adapted to the Legion's policies.

He rounded the corner to the bathroom and froze in mid-step, unprepared for what he saw. The Courier knelt in front of Vulpes, her mouth wrapped around his impossibly large prick. She sucked and bobbed her head as he sighed and leaned back against the wall, his face the very picture of bliss.

Vulpes reached forward, grabbed a handful of the Courier's long hair, and helped guide her. Neither of them wore any clothes, and the door was partially open, making Lanius wonder if they intended to be caught. Regardless, they were both beautiful, and he couldn't help but watch.

She released him from her mouth with an audible pop, and Vulpes wasted no time in getting her to stand up with her back to the wall. In a surprising display of strength, he lifted the Courier and began to ram into her. She whimpered and wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him in even further. Her breasts and ass jiggled with each frantic thrust, and she clung to Vulpes with all her might.

He slowed somewhat in his assault and changed their angle, drawing a moan out from the Courier. Lanius shifted slightly, his pants much too tight from watching. Vulpes buried his face in the Courier's neck and began to frantically pound into her once more.

Six turned her head to stare directly at Lanius. As their eyes met, she mouthed a single word: mine.

Her eyes trailed down his body to his groin, and she smirked. Of course he was turned on from watching them. Who wouldn't be? Shaking his head, Lanius left as quietly as he arrived.

He caught them kissing before, but never something as graphic as what he just saw. Her intent, however, became quite obvious.

That woman was an animal, and she was marking her territory.


	4. Chapter 4

A/n: Ohay. So, apparently, the kids are all using tumblr these days. If you want, you can find me on there. My username is fortunesque, same as it is here. I usually post random stupidity, but I also occasionally post fanfic snippets.

* * *

Vulpes Inculta prided himself on his self-discipline, but at times, some of his urges became too strong to resist. There was the urge to have attention, the urge to be stared at, the urge to be desired, and possibly objectified. His attire certainly satisfied many of those urges, and the temptation to wear it was too great.

Vulpes smirked out from under his coyote mantle as he approached Goodsprings. The Powder Gangers would know him instantly upon seeing him; he was their boogeyman, their demon in crimson and black. His wife couldn't keep her eyes off him, as if the Legion uniform itself was attractive. There was also the attention from Lanius, which brought a conflicting excited sourness to the pit of his stomach.

Of course, as soon as he exited his room in his Legion uniform, the Praetorians wanted to wear theirs as well. The more, the merrier, he supposed. It could boost their popularity as well; these were the infamous ex-Legionaries, wearing their former colors, fiercely defending an innocent town.

"So, you're sure the uniform thing is a good idea?" Six asked as they approached the town.

"It is a bit late to be asking that question," Vulpes chuckled, "if you want the uniforms gone, then we would be fighting in underwear."

Lanius mumbled something about not minding and Vulpes rolled his eyes.

"Powder Gangers are terrified of Legion," he reiterated.

"So are the people," she said.

Vulpes kicked at a rock and sighed. If she didn't ask these questions, then she wouldn't be doing a good job. Still, he was rather impatient with his motives being questioned, though he understood the point behind the questions.

"Everyone knows you have former Legionaries under your roof," he replied, "If we are easily identified helping defend a town from Powder Gangers, then it will look even better."

"Okay, true," she smiled, "You're so smart."

Yes. Yes he was, even though he was more interested in terrifying the Powder Gangers than anything else.

Six leaned up to give him a quick kiss, and the group walked into town. Townsfolk stepped out on their porches to watch them in curiosity and fear. As the whispers of 'Legion' drifted toward his ears, Vulpes smirked. He missed the feeling of power the uniform gave him.

He watched as a woman in leather armor sauntered up to them. She was short – shorter than Six, if such a thing was possible – with a messy scrub of oily copper hair bundled on top of her head.

"Hey, Miss ten," the woman drawled. Though Six was clueless, Vulpes didn't miss the quick once over the woman gave his wife.

"Hey Sunny!" Six smiled, "Heard you have some problems here. I can't let you all suffer, not after all the good you did for me."

She moved to unhook her arm from his, but Vulpes wouldn't let her go so easily. It took a moment of tugging before Six freed her arm, earning herself a quick slap on the ass. The Courier turned to glare at him, and Vulpes chuckled; she was feeling feisty. While Six spoke with the woman about something, he glanced around for somewhere he could take her for a quick fuck. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind.

"–gunna go get em or not," the woman replied, "scared em shitless."

Six turned to look at him and gave him a nod.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Vulpes blinked as he realized he missed the entirety of the conversation. He didn't have to see it to know that Graham was frowning at him in disapproval. To his side, Lanius stood, staring intently at something. Vulpes quickly followed his line of sight and saw that he was rather preoccupied with staring directly at his crotch.

"Let's ask Sand-Rock," Vulpes smirked.

Lanius blinked and shook his head, snapping out of his stupor.

"Given your earlier reservations," he replied, "we should wait for them. When they come, we will slaughter them in defense of the town, and teach a lesson to all who would oppose you and reject your mercy."

Vulpes sighed in frustration; that didn't go as planned.

"We'll slaughter the town in defense of the town?" Six asked. She tilted her head to the side in confusion.

It took all of Vulpes' self-control to not erupt in a fit of laughter.

"No," Lanius grumbled, giving Vulpes a level glare. He knew that he had been set up.

"Oh, okay," she replied, "could be my head wound being silly. That's a good plan."

In the back, Graham shook his head, and Arcade shot him a questioning look.

"Would have made Ed curse up a storm just now," he grumbled, crossing his arms and staring out at the Mojave.

There was a twinge of guilt before Vulpes violently squashed it. That man was dead, and he left him to be used by a thoughtless animal. He never would have understood what happened to Vulpes, both as a child, and as an adult; that man never felt emotion, aside from blind rage.

In that regard, Caesar and Lanius were similar. As soon as either one felt something other than anger – friendship, falling in love – they stamped it out in order to not deal with it.

With this, Graham was right; had Caesar been there, he would have cursed up a storm at the both of them for acting as if everything was a fucking joke. Both would have been flogged and forced to stare at each other as they were punished. Then again, it would have never happened in the first place; had Caesar been alive, he likely would have died from the shock of seeing them not hating each other.

"Any other thoughts?" Six asked, motioning toward the group.

"Let me talk to them," Vulpes insisted.

The Courier nodded slowly in thought.

"Yeah," she concluded, "you're probably the best negotiator. Can I talk with you a moment?"

He wasn't going to negotiate; he was going to terrify them out of their minds until they were blubbering on their knees before him.

Vulpes followed Six until they were out of earshot and everyone's line of sight. She stopped behind a house, and he took the opportunity to pounce. He pinned her against the aged, wooden clapboard and began to ravage her neck. Six put her hands on his chest, and Vulpes expected her to attempt to unlatch his armor. He did not, however, expect her to push him.

"No," she hissed, "I wanted to talk."

"It can wait," he replied, resuming his attentions to her neck.

"No, goddammit!" Six growled. She shoved him back with more force than he thought her little arms possessed.

"Don't you ever," she ground out, "ever, slap my butt like that in front everyone. I'm supposed to be the leader of this. Don't you dare disrespect me like that in public again."

Vulpes recoiled in shock. Who was this, and what had they done with his horny, dutiful wife?

Six didn't bother to say anything else, and stormed back toward the group. Vulpes sighed and figured that he was at least fortunate enough that she took him aside to berate him. Still, it stung. Didn't she want everyone to know that they belonged to each other? After all, she was the one leaving the door partially open when they got intimate. She was the one that did things when they were in semi-public situations. There was also that one time in the Ultra Luxe.

Memories of that night came back, and he desperately tried to think of something else. Cass offered to show Six and Veronica her new house, and the Courier invited the sheriff to come along with for 'girl time'.

Sighing, Vulpes sat down on the front porch stairs and watched the roads. A shadow stood over him, blocking out the sun. It was Marcus.

"Uh oh," he chuckled.

"Fuck off," Vulpes grumbled. He was in no mood.

"You look like you're in trouble," Marcus teased.

"You're going to be in trouble if you don't leave him alone," Crassius called.

Marcus recoiled quickly and backed off. It was very obvious who was boss in their relationship.

Vulpes was content to sit on the porch and observe. He watched as Lanius gave Arcade a once-over, then turn around to do the same at the town's tiny sheriff. The man apparently liked a little bit of everything. He supposed he could get behind that; after all, when he was single, he did the same thing – minus the men.

There was a flicker of movement behind him, and Vulpes turned slightly to have a look. A boy stood in the doorway to the house that the porch on which he sat belonged. He was a small, sandy-haired, child, his face pink and freckled from sunburn.

"I see you," Vulpes remarked.

The boy jumped back in surprise before inching forward. Vulpes turned to look at him and gave him a nod.

This seemed acceptable, and the boy ran forward to sit down next to him on the stairs. He swung his legs forward, and sat quietly, sneaking an occasional glance at him. All it took was a small smile at the boy, and backs of his heels started thumping loudly against the wooden stairs as he realized that this wasn't a bad person. Vulpes was like the pied piper of children.

"What's your name?" the boy asked.

"Vulpes Inculta," he replied, "What's yours?"

The boy scrunched his face in confusion at his strange name.

"I'm Timmy," he smiled, "you have a funny name, mister."

Vulpes nodded. He would concede that.

There was something strange about knowing someone's name. No matter the age, an exchange of names would almost guarantee that someone would open up. Children especially seemed to follow this rule; after all, if you knew someone's name, you were no longer strangers. If you were no longer strangers, then you could speak with them at will.

"I like your cape," the boy said, "Does it give you superpowers?"

"I have superpowers without the cape," Vulpes chuckled. The exaggeration was irresistible.

The boy's eyes grew impossibly wide as he stared up at him in awe. He scooted closer until their legs touched; Vulpes supposed he made this child feel safe.

"Why do you have a dog head on your head, mister?" he asked.

That was a question he hadn't been asked before, but then again, Mojave children never saw him in his Legion uniform.

"There was a great empire long ago," Vulpes replied, "The wolf was their guardian animal. Since they revered the wolf, they wore a wolf's head into battle. We do the same in order to honor those people."

Hell if he knew. They did it because it was strange. They did it so that people would be unnerved by them, so they would have an identity the likes of which the wasteland had never seen. Any book he read on the subject didn't say why the Vexillarius wore the wolf's cloak. His answer was only his best guess.

"You're going to save us from the bad men, right?" the boy asked.

Vulpes gave him a stern nod. The Powder Gangers wouldn't survive what he had in store for them.

"So you're a hero, then," the boy concluded.

A bitter laugh escaped him before he could think better of it.

"Let's not get carried away," Vulpes frowned.

The boy stared up at him in confusion. If he wasn't a hero, then what was he? Vulpes didn't have an answer. Try as he might, he was stuck somewhere between government property and pardoned fugitive.

This didn't seem to deter him, though. The boy sat quietly next to him, waiting for something. Perhaps he was trying to figure out what to say; perhaps he disappeared into a pretend world. But he was quiet, in a stark contrast to his earlier questioning.

The kid wasn't bad, and in fact, might have made Vulpes want one. Maybe. Then again, he had a dozen or so bastards running around, and given that it would make Six furious, he wasn't about to nobly claim a single one of them.

There were voices further down the road, and Vulpes peered out at the town. A large group of men in various Powder Ganger uniforms made their way up the worn streets. They carried clubs, bats, rebar, and any sort of explosives they could get their hands on. The child next to him trembled.

Vulpes watched until the Powder Gangers were in the middle of the town. Their leader stepped forward and began to denounce the town for being useless ingrates; he looked familiar. Vulpes stood slowly and approached them.

"I have never seen a more stunning display of sheer idiocy," he remarked.

The leader turned to look at him and recoiled in horror.

"Did you think your greed would go unnoticed?" he questioned, "Did you think that the Courier would turn a blind eye? What are you against an army of robots?"

Powder Gangers looked around for signs of securitrons.

"But this requires a personal touch," Vulpes continued, "after all; this town is of special significance. Now that you have our attention, how does it feel, Boxcars?"

By saying the man's name alone, Vulpes had the Powder Ganger leader completely unglued. He suspected that a traveler – a Follower of the Apocalypse, perhaps – found Boxcars and gave his legs an inordinate amount of stims to fix them. Perhaps they even used an autodoc. Healing such scum was a waste of resources.

"Do you think you can just play God?" Vulpes sneered.

He crossed the space between them and jostled the man against a nearby boulder. Chaos exploded around them, but Vulpes only had eyes for the prey he once let go. He never figured that he would find himself in this situation, and admittedly, didn't know exactly what to do with the man. Sighing, he grumbled that he would save Boxcars for later before knocking him out with a quick punch to the face.

Because he was the one that spoke first, Vulpes became the Powder Gangers' primary target. Drawing his pistol, he began to take down the idiots that hadn't taken cover. It was a slaughter; the drunken, drug-addled Powder Gangers were no matched for some of the most elite Legionaries that ever existed. They were no match for his wife's pistol, nor the mild-mannered Arcade and his plasma weapon. Vulpes watched as Veronica charged in alongside the Praetorians. With her power glove, she punched the head clear off one of the gangers.

There was movement behind him – a barely audible sound of boots scraping against the hardened desert ground. Vulpes whirled around in time to blow off the head of his attacker, frowning at the distasteful feeling of being showered with brain matter.

Soon, Boxcars was the only one left.

"That's it?" Lanius huffed, "even the easiest in Arizona weren't this easy. The town should have been able to handle this."

"They're working class," Vulpes sighed, "not warrior class."

The Butcher sneered and Vulpes frowned.

"And what would an army do without food?" he asked, "What would an army do without clothes? Those who are not conscripted are important as well."

There was a groan down by his feet; Boxcars was waking up. A selfish part of him wanted to take the man out behind a house and give him a thorough beating once again. But if he didn't learn from the first time, then he would never learn. He motioned for Canyon Runner to come forward.

"He's yours," Vulpes nodded, "you can decide his punishment. This is your home, not mine."

Canyon Runner stepped forward and waited for the Powder Ganger to awaken.

"Maybe the gods will have mercy on your soul," he frowned, "because you'll find none here."

Without preamble, his blade connected with the man's neck in a quick downward stroke. It took two swipes for him to be completely beheaded; the blade was sharp.

"A clean kill," Marcus nodded.

Canyon Runner turned back to look at Vulpes.

"Looks like you got dirty," he chuckled. He ushered him toward his home.

Vulpes looked back to the boy that he spoke to earlier, and noticed how he cowered behind his mother's leg. He saw the child's terror reflected in the face of his mother, and in the faces of some of the other residents.

Some of them had seen something so violent before, and he wondered if this was the last innocent place that the Mojave sheltered.

* * *

Arcade was worried. It wasn't just that Cass was pregnant and she lived in the middle of nowhere, or that she was thirty-seven and had really slim hips and her husband was a legion recruit. It wasn't that his new closest friend could collapse from heat exhaustion at any second because he no longer had sweat glands. It wasn't that his former closest friend seemed to be playing with fire by allowing her husband's rapist to live with them.

Nobody knew his secret yet, except Six, and she wasn't the same person anymore. Vulpes had to know that something was off with him, but he never bothered to say a thing about it. Wasn't he suspicious? Did he just not care about him? Did anyone, for that matter?

He watched as Canyon Runner ushered Vulpes toward their water pump out front of the house. There was no need for him to shower; he just had to rinse the bits and pieces of head and brain off his face, neck, and arms. His cowl and goggles came off, along with the top of his armor and tunic. These were quickly spot cleaned by Veronica, who took off her power glove and dunked it in a bucket of water.

Vulpes turned his back and put his scars on full display. They were fresh – still purple in places – and Arcade thought back to the absolute hell that came from watching him. Vulpes had been in a terrible place back then, both physically and mentally. Looking at the scars made him want to ask if he was okay, but he thought better of it; the man didn't talk about his emotions.

He supposed he just wanted to feel useful. Arcade never liked being idle, and always wanted to make a difference, even if it was a small one. He watched as the screen door to Cass' new house slammed shut again. That, he could easily fix.

Vulpes finished washing himself and walked up to the door, his head tilted to the side.

"Needs an arm of some sort," he remarked. Opening the door, Vulpes looked at the back and saw the broken arm.

His heart sank. It was petty, but Arcade could have done that himself. So, he just waited and watched as Six and Lanius stared after Vulpes, and Graham stared after them all like some sort of watchdog. Way back when everything started, Graham told him his opinion about letting the Butcher live with them, especially allowing him around Vulpes. And he agreed with him, for the most part, except for one thing; the guy seemed somewhat agreeable. Lanius was not charming, nor was he particularly nice. But he spoke with a candidness that was so rare among wastelanders who hid everything from everyone.

It was this candidness that made Arcade somewhat appreciate him. He knew what Lanius would do, and what he wouldn't do. And if he was going to do something to Vulpes, it would have been done a long time ago; he would have made his intentions very clear.

This did nothing to soothe the Courier's fears. She was obsessive, and close to smothering Vulpes. Arcade couldn't remember the last time she had a long talk with just the two of them. Even Graham was protective, leaving Arcade to watch them all watch Lanius.

Lanius wouldn't do anything to Vulpes that he didn't consent to, and that was where the problem lay. Vulpes could consent at any moment.

Arcade sighed and unloaded his plasma pistol. It was difficult to be a decent shot, but not be too good so as to arouse peoples' suspicions. Truthfully, Arcade was getting sick of the games. But at the same time, he couldn't just blurt it out to everybody. He didn't want all of the suspicious gazes turned toward him.

So Arcade waited for everyone to settle down and decide that it was time to go back to the Strip. He followed quietly as Six handed caps back to the people who gave her some at the beginning of her travels. He watched as Cass thanked her neighbors for watering her plants while she was gone. Arcade watched as everyone said goodbyes and began to make their way back to New Vegas.

Nobody paid him mind, and that was the way he always thought he liked it.

It didn't feel right.

* * *

She hadn't spoken to him since they had their one-sided argument in Goodsprings, and Vulpes' patience was admittedly wearing thin. She hadn't touched him, didn't even do so much as look at him. Her punishment was too much. He understood what he did wrong; Six had to appear tough in front of everyone so that she was an actual leader.

Vulpes knew he made a mistake; he was of a similar position in the free Mojave as he was under Caesar. He was the intelligence, the man that knew almost anything his leader wished to know. Though admittedly, he was starting to become more muscle than agent. It was interesting, but it certainly wasn't a job to which he was best suited. And he stepped far out of his station in Goodsprings.

He entered the Lucky 38, amazed by the notion that he was used to calling the place his home. While other members of their group split off to go to the cocktail lounge, Vulpes got off at the Presidential suite. It was getting colder, and the Legion uniform was considerably more drafty than a pair of jeans. Lanius and the Praetorians grabbed what would be necessary for everyone to clean their weapons. Six, however, followed behind him to the bedroom.

"You," she nodded, closing the door behind them.

As Six quickly crossed the room, Vulpes expected a second reprimand.

"You're so fucking manly," she growled, before shoving him into the wall.

As she gave him a violent kiss, Vulpes' eyes shot open in surprise. Where had this come from?

Knowing not to question a good thing, he took advantage of the situation. Kissing her back, he helped her strip off her belt and shirt. Vulpes reached up to remove his cowl, but the Courier's hand stopped him.

"Leave it on," she ordered, "leave it all on."

He nodded mutely as she quickly tore her boots off.

"A while back, I had a dream about you," she admitted, "you were wearing that and, oh, the things you did to me –"

Six dropped her pants and bent over the nearby desk.

"Like this," she finished.

Six didn't need to say any more. He was definitely ready. Yanking down his boxers and quickly lifting his tunic, Vulpes entered her as quickly as he could.

Soon, she was begging him to fuck her like an animal – loudly, at that. Had he known he was going to have the best sex of his life while married, he would have done it much, much sooner.

The desk inched toward the wall with each frantic thrust, the carpet underneath wrinkling with the movement. Six became suddenly quiet, a signal that she was about to come. Within seconds, he felt her pulsing around him, her moan so loud that he wondered if they could hear it upstairs. It hadn't taken long to get her there; he'd certainly remember that his uniform was a huge turn-on for her.

He didn't wait for her to catch her breath and continued pounding into her, the sound of his hips hitting her backside filling the room. Six was always ready, however, and always took everything he gave her. Vulpes hissed as she taunted him and clamped down on his manhood. Smirking, he gave her a slap on the ass. She didn't protest this time, and he added an extra slap for good measure.

He felt his own climax approaching quickly and sped up. Gasping, the final waves of pleasure hit him, and he buried himself as deeply as he could. Vulpes pushed forward and hunched over her, the desk tipping precariously as he spilled himself inside her.

When tide of pleasure receded, he slowly tipped the desk back to rest on all four of its legs. It creaked loudly with the movement, and Vulpes chuckled.

"Should give the desk a cigarette after that one," he remarked.

Vulpes backed away and pulled out of Six, admiring the way their combined fluids seeped out of her body. He wanted to add more, until each thrust made a squelching sound, until he was physically incapable of another erection and her voice was nearly gone from screaming.

Six stood, popped her back, and turned around to kiss him. The fires were instantly reignited, and Vulpes found himself carrying her to the bed for more.

He would never have enough of this woman.


	5. Chapter 5

A/n: Shorter chapter here, but things are definitely going to start heating up :)

* * *

_Then with tossing both arms, with measureless imprecations he shouted out: "Aye, aye! And I'll chase him round Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition's flames before I give him up."_

Lanius blinked and rubbed his already tired eyes. Who was perdition? And were these literal flames, or metaphorical ones?

"What are you reading?" Vulpes asked.

He sauntered over and crouched next to the Butcher's chair. Leaning forward, he craned his head to read the spine of the book before sitting back on his haunches to read the text. Lanius tried to ignore the cheek on his arm, and the arm draped across his thigh.

"And what do you think of Moby Dick?" Vulpes asked. His warm breath tickled the hair on his arm, causing him to break out in goose bumps.

"He needs to get over this damn whale," Lanius frowned. Easier said than done, he figured.

Vulpes laughed and leaned in closer –stop that– almost draping himself across his lap. He didn't move, even as Lanius continued reading in an attempt to forget his proximity. A loud sigh drew him out of the moment.

"What?" Lanius growled.

"I do wish you would hurry up and turn the page," Vulpes lamented.

Seriously?

The Butcher took quick note of the page number and shut the book in front of Vulpes' face. The startled fox jerked backward and stood, his spell broken.

"Get your own," Lanius groused.

He stood and left, not bothering to give Vulpes as much as a backward glance. Entering the cramped, shared bedroom, he sat down in a chair and began to read again. The phrases were an endless string of words that Lanius didn't understand, and after a few minutes, he closed the book. It was too old, the language much too archaic for him to grasp when there were other things on his mind. And the very person he could ask about these words was the very person who was irritating him.

Lanius put the book aside, stood from the chair, and got on the floor for pushups. He didn't bother to count, and wouldn't slow down unless his muscles were absolutely burning. If he could physically exhaust himself, perhaps his mind would follow.

He saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye, and a weight settled on his back. Lanius heard a giggle and continued to do his pushups, regardless of the intrusion.

"You looked like you needed some help," the Veronica chuckled.

"Your weight is nothing," he grumbled. It was the truth.

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she chirped, "for now at least." Lanius felt her stretch and heard her yawn from her perch on his back.

"I thought you were queer," Lanius stated. Because, if she wasn't –

"Yep!" she replied, "unrepentantly so."

And he was unrepentantly disappointed; it had been a while.

"Whoa, whoa there," Veronica protested.

Lanius felt another, much heavier weight settle onto his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vulpes' black boots resting on the floor.

"Alright, old man," Vulpes chuckled, "let's see what you can do."

Lanius narrowed his eyes and stared at the floor, his elbows locked. Fine, then.

He allowed himself to slowly descend then pushed up off the floor, refusing to make as much as a grunt. The complete suit of armor he used to wear had to weigh as much as them; he could do this. Still, it did nothing to erase the fact that Vulpes was being a pest.

Lanius did everything he could to not think of the ass – the wonderful, perky ass – on his back, but it was no use. Only the strongest of resolve kept him from throwing Vulpes off and punching him square in the jaw.

"Bandits!" Marcus shouted, "Bandit pillows! They're coming from all sides!"

It was all the warning he got before something hit Vulpes and knocked him off balance. Amid a shower of old feathers, Veronica quickly left – or was carried; he couldn't tell – and the Butcher attempted to sit up. Vulpes slid off his back, landing next to him. Lanius watched as Vulpes blinked in shock, and he felt the strong urge to lean over and sneak a kiss while everyone was distracted.

He hesitated too long. Vulpes bolted upright, grabbed a pillow, and leaped at Marcus, intent on hitting him in the head. The Praetorian blocked quickly and another violent burst of feathers showered the room. In the next instant, Vulpes was tackled to the ground and on the defensive as Marcus grappled with him.

Lanius snorted as he came to the bitter realization as to what Marcus was doing. He came up with ways that he could touch Vulpes that weren't sexual, that wouldn't be questioned, and he could get almost as close as he wanted.

It was the same thing that Vulpes did to Lanius.

Their struggle ended with Vulpes pinned to the floor. Marcus straddled his hips and held his arms against the floor, a smirk of triumph on his face. Vulpes lay limp on the floor, panting. In a struggle, Vulpes was often the weaker one.

"How in the hell did you become one of the praetorians?" Vulpes asked, "Silly is not part of the job description."

Marcus leaned in close to Vulpes' face and Lanius froze. He wouldn't, would he?

"When I kill things," Marcus replied, "they're extra dead."

The praetorian shifted and Vulpes narrowed his eyes in irritation.

"Get off," he grumbled, his face turning red.

Marcus relented, and as soon as he stood, Vulpes darted out of the room. Crassius stood off to the side with Veronica. The look he gave his partner made the Scribe cringe and leave, but Lanius would do no such thing. He was there first. This didn't seem to bother Crassius, who crossed his arms and stared down at Marcus with a disapproving frown.

"Leave him alone," he ordered, "he's having a difficult enough time without you confusing him more."

Marcus rolled his eyes and left, while Crassius glared after him. This appeared to be a discussion that they had before.

"Vulpes has problems," the praetorian sighed.

Lanius chuckled and shook his head; it was quite an understatement to say that Vulpes had problems.

"I see the way he torments you," Crassius continued, "You don't have to put up with that."

The Butcher grunted and the praetorian shrugged and left. His admission that he thought Vulpes had problems did little to reassure Lanius, and, in fact, made things much worse. It was confirmation that he wasn't crazy, and that Vulpes desired him in some way. It explained why Vulpes couldn't seem to leave him alone that day, and on many other days.

And after getting married to a jealous hellcat, it was one hell of a time for Vulpes to realize his attraction to other men. Someone had to tell Vulpes to knock it off, to just accept it, and move on with life, and nobody was doing it.

Resolved, Lanius stood and stepped out into the hallway. The door to the master suite was closed; Vulpes ran off to his room to pout like a child. Lanius would have none of it.

Walking across the hall, he raised his hand to knock on the door, to get Vulpes out there and to tell him to stop.

"Stop what?" would be his reply.

Lanius paused in thought as feelings – too many to count – passed through him. Stop harassing him. Stop flirting with him, stop making him want him, and stop being Vulpes. Most importantly, he'd tell him to get the hell over himself, admit his desires, and move on.

Sounds of flesh smacking against flesh drifted to his ears, and Lanius swore under his breath. They were at it again, screwing like molerats in heat. It wouldn't be a problem, but Lanius knew his game; he would flirt with him, then be with his wife.

Lanius swore as the sounds increased in volume. Now, he had visuals to go along with the sounds, and it made hearing them even worse.

He was trying to behave, to make sure that he did nothing that would court the Courier's wrath. But it was difficult, given the amount of everything going on around him at once. He heard Six and Vulpes at all times of day, and heard Marcus and Crassius at night. Vulpes teased him relentlessly. And even though Arcade was queer, he didn't seem to entertain any thoughts of him; in fact, the man seemed to outright avoid him. In this city of debauchery and vice, Lanius didn't know a single person that he could have just a single –

Lacey.

Lanius glanced around to see if anyone was watching, but they were all in the kitchen or elsewhere. Turning around, he pressed the button to summon the elevator.

He was going to Boulder City.

* * *

Vulpes sighed and stretched in bed. How many was that since he woke up two hours ago? It had to have at least been four. Regardless, they were really testing Six's birth control's one percent failure rate.

"Feel good now?" Six giggled.

Vulpes chuckled and gave her a quick kiss. He would be fine for a while, but at the same time, he wasn't sure if what they were doing was entirely healthy. She would have to leave to negotiate with the Brotherhood of Steel soon, and he was very used to getting laid on a regular basis.

He came to terms long ago with the fact that it didn't take much for something to provoke a sexual response out of him. The problem that arose from it, however, was that it could come from was quite a broad scope. Vulpes found himself making passes at almost anyone, and it wasn't so much that he had a genuine interest as much as it was nice to know who wanted it, just in case. In case of what, he didn't know; he was still working through that part. Maybe part of him didn't expect his marriage to last.

Vulpes could easily write off the fact that some of these responses were toward other men; that was his instructor's fault, as well as Lanius for reminding him of those things which he hid long ago. He never had the chance to form his own opinions, and it was no wonder that he was so confused as an adult.

Of course, he'd never tell Six about this. She didn't need to hear his issues while she was busy running a budding nation.

Yawning, Vulpes stretched again, pausing and opening his eyes to watch Six run her hand down his ribs and stomach.

"Yes?" he chuckled, watching as her hand slowly dipped lower.

"You're so handsome," she murmured.

Six stroked the trail of hair around his navel and continued to stare. Blinking, she removed her hand and left the bed to gather her clothes. He watched her dress for a moment, and then sighed as he realized he needed to get dressed as well. As Vulpes slipped out of bed, Yes Man's voice came on over the intercom.

"We've got a guy outside that has a report that he says could be of interest," the bot announced, "should I let him in?"

"Yes," Six called, "I'll be down in a minute."

She stumbled into her pants, cursing as she jumped to try to pull them up. Vulpes walked up behind her, grabbed the belt loops and helped her tug them on. She murmured a quick 'thanks' and left him to finish dressing. Vulpes stepped into a pair of jeans, tugged on an undershirt, and followed behind her. As Six entered the elevator, he stuck his arm in the door to stop it from closing. He wasn't officially part of her government, but he didn't want her to meet strangers alone. He had to be there to protect her.

The elevator made its way down to the casino level and opened to reveal a man who appeared to have come from one of the farms. He saw Six and gave her a quick 'howdy', and took off his hat to introduce himself. He shook her hand gently, and Vulpes was pleased; this man had manners – country manners – but manners nonetheless.

"I'm from a homestead down the way between 'round Nipton and Novac," he nodded, "we wanted to tell you it looks like someone's set up shop near Nipton. Folks are talking about seeing blue lights 'round there."

"What kind of lights?" Six asked.

Vulpes crossed his arms and waited as the man shook his head and tried to gather his thoughts. This didn't sound like an ordinary camp.

"Look like moving pictures," he replied, "I seen it too."

He 'seen' it. Vulpes cringed; the common idiots actually spoke in that manner.

"Well," Six frowned, "I suppose if there were people in Nipton, we'd know exactly what was going on. But since we don't –"

She paused and sent a glare back at him. Vulpes rolled his eyes.

"I guess we will have to send someone to go look," she continued, "it really is a shame that all those people were killed."

The farmer shook his head in disagreement.

"Been there, miss?" he asked.

"No," Six replied, "but folks are folks."

"Was a wicked place," he said, "and sometimes the Lord above uses heathens to carry out his judgment on the wicked. That's all I'll say about it, miss."

So, some of the people saw his work in Nipton as an act of God. As the man backed up from him in hesitation, Vulpes realized that his smile must have been showing.

The Courier asked if the man had provisions to make the trip back, and a place to stay. He nodded and quickly took his leave, giving Vulpes a backward glance of suspicion. The fact that people still found him unnerving felt right; it was something that Vulpes could count on. As the door closed behind the man, Six turned to frown at him. What in the hell did he do wrong this time?

"Well," she clipped, "someone's got to go take a look at what's going on."

Vulpes crossed his arms in defense.

"Yeah," he replied, "I suppose someone in charge should go see what is going on in their land."

Six glared at him and stuck out her jaw in defiance.

"I have people for that," she smirked. The Courier sauntered toward the elevator and glanced back over her shoulder.

He was on top of her in a heartbeat, sending them tumbling into the elevator. It closed behind them and began its slow trek up to the presidential suite.

Vulpes kissed her quickly, pushing her back against the wall. Trailing kisses down her jaw, he began to nip and suck on her neck. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, urging him on.

"We'll worry about it tomorrow," Six panted.

Vulpes nodded in agreement. It wasn't as if anyone would accidentally get killed over in Nipton if they waited.

* * *

Samantha "Scrub" Westin had always been a cocktease, a cold-hearted bitch that wrapped men around her finger without a second thought. All of her Johns and Joes figured her to be a whore, but a whore that just wouldn't give out for them. They hung on to her promises, hoping desperately that just once – just one night – that they'd get lucky. But they'd all sooner get a bullet between the eyes than a roll around with the squatty Scrub.

Scrub looked cheap like ten-cent whiskey with her board-like shape, short frame, and that damn steel-wool scrub of hair on top of her head. He was the one who named her; out of all the things he called the girl, Scrub was the only one that stuck.

"Bet that took all your brain power to come up with," she'd say.

"Could call ya grits," he'd snap, "because you're a short-ass little pasty nothing."

That day, she leveled him against the wall, causing his head to smack against the hard concrete and see stars. She'd been a good girl, a spoiled princess, and he never thought she had it in her. It'd been one of the biggest fucking turn-ons of his life, and it became an obsession to needle her continuously. He didn't want to admit it, but he adored her short, nubby fingers, her hazel eyes, and her scrubby, fluffy hair. He loved to watch her do stupid, normal shit, like eat, or sit. Often, he'd find her sitting in a squirrel-like position, her tiny hands feeding her tiny, big-lipped mouth. And if she wasn't wearing shoes, her toes were sure to be curling around the cushion of whatever chair she was sitting on.

"My momma was Italian;" she said once, "Dad says I look just like her. Last name was Rossi." A dead Italian mother made her special; an alcoholic living mother made him not.

And even though he'd known her forever back when she was a dumb nosebleed kid, he wanted to make Sammy Scrub his girl. But for his part, he was a damn coward, and way too scared. Besides, Scrub was always a step ahead, and always avoidant.

The wind carried Scrub around, blowing her in any direction. Like a tumbleweed, she rolled back home and stirred up trouble, only to leave soon afterward. He came across her months later – he'd become a tumbleweed too – and they decided to blow around together, their former rivalry forgotten. He guessed there was something to be said about a familiar face in the wastes. Familiarity, of course, turned into something more, and one night, they were hands all over, clothes on the floor, doing the good old sixty-nine.

They fooled around a little off and on as she tumbleweeded about the wastes, and he never asked her where she went or what she did. Truthfully, he never had to; everyone heard of Scrub, for better or worse.

Sammy Scrub chose her victims at random; some she would kill; others, she would bend over backward for to help. He asked her why she did what she did, and never got a straightforward answer. She liked the way the woman smiled and she figured her mom must have been like that. The man was treating her like a kid so she shot him. The kid had an annoying voice, so she ditched him with a neighbor.

It was uncanny how others asked her for help all the time, but if it bothered Scrub, she never showed it.

Perhaps he was to blame for her snapping; perhaps, it was daddy issues or some other bullshit. But whatever it was, it made her snap, and hard.

He was just too much of a doormat to care that she killed all of those people.


	6. Chapter 6

A/n: Real life is interfering with my made-up life and I don't like that.

* * *

Vulpes wouldn't tell Six, but this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. There was a time when the prospect of random, glowing blue lights would be entirely too fascinating to ignore, but that time had long passed. He didn't care about a possible scientific mystery, or anything of the sort; Vulpes wanted to be in the Lucky 38, catching up on all the times he missed having sex with his wife while she was away.

Of course, she conned him into doing this. Six waited until they had another round of incredible sex, before she asked him for a favor. Like a fool, he told her that he would do anything for her; that was when she ran her finger down his chest and told him to go to Nipton for her, "and take the other Legionaries with you." He agreed to it, because she pleased him very well that night, and because when she got that certain look in her eye, he was under her spell. Vulpes discovered later that damned Lanius ran off on them, and he was stuck without anyone to annoy during his travels.

Vulpes stared out at the broken remains of outer Vegas and sighed. He supposed he ought to get going. Reluctantly, he led Marcus and Crassius down the crumbling road, kicking at stones in his path. Vulpes shuffled past the broken buildings, and through the rebuilt sharecropper farms. Workers looked on in curiosity and caution, likely wondering why the Legionaries were out without the Courier. Vulpes was wondering the same thing.

"The faster we do this," Crassius remarked, "the faster we get back."

Vulpes nodded and increased his pace. As they passed different locations, he made sure to point them out to the praetorians.

"That's McCarran?" Marcus asked, "Looks like a good base of operations. Seems rather safe."

Vulpes chuckled and turned to glance at the other man.

"It was, to a point," he replied, "Picus was stationed there as a high ranking officer."

Marcus blinked in amazement.

"If she wanted to infiltrate the NCR," Vulpes smirked, "I would have highly proficient agents ready for her use within months."

"Would you go?" Marcus asked.

Vulpes snorted.

"No," he clipped, "I'd have people for that, just like I had people before. The reason why I came here before was to carry out other plans."

Those plans involved gassing the Strip with chlorine, and he was glad that it never happened. Six could have been out when it happened; she could have been in the Lucky 38, and maybe the ventilation system wouldn't have detected it. Besides her, it would have been a shame had Arcade and the rest of her friends been gassed as well. He was rather attached to them, something he had to learn to accept. Closeness for the Frumentarii was highly discouraged.

Vegas was rough out here; there were tall, makeshift walls of cars and blocks, covered in barbed wire. It was the area where people that were too poor, strung out, or lazy to try to live in Freeside or Westside. The area was violent; many of these people had been thrown out of more civilized communities.

"Looks like fortifications," Crassius frowned. They were all on guard.

"It's a trashy area," Vulpes murmured, "we should get out of here as quickly as possible."

He wasn't worried about an ambush; he just didn't want to deal with these people. Truth be told, Six needed to deal with the Fiends, and fast. She needed to make chems illegal, and deal with the people who sold, carried, and used them.

Thankfully, the Fiend controlled areas shrank since new commerce grew in Freeside and the outlying areas. It didn't take long before they were further away from fiend lands and in the outer reaches of the old city.

They passed some of the old houses in Vegas, their dull brown and tan color blending in with the desert landscape. Further back, there was a line of rail, and as they followed it, Vulpes wondered how loud it must have been, and how the people that lived in Vegas were able to sleep with trains at all hours of the night. Perhaps, it was a world so full of sound and movement that they thought nothing of it.

The tracks went uphill here, and they followed them toward Black Mountain. A highway ran parallel to the tracks, and they wound around to intersect at the crest of the hill. The group changed paths here, and followed the highway toward Sloan.

It was around noon when they arrived; miners shuffled around on their lunch break, eying them with suspicion. They weren't feared in these parts, and could even say that they were more than just accepted. Wherever the Legionaries went, it meant that there was serious business to attend to. The feeling wasn't that unlike being a top officer in the Legion; it was familiar, stable, and safe.

They stopped at the nearby water pump to refill their canteens and went on their way down the highway. Nobody bothered to speak with them, and that was exactly as Vulpes liked it. Continuing south, they passed occasional groups of traders who were finally able to use all of highway 15 instead of the southern portion. Caravan guards gave them polite nods, their postures more at ease than they had been before the Mojave became consolidated. With securitrons rolling around, most areas were considerably safer.

After stopping for lunch in Primm, they made their way to Nipton. As the sun began to set, the town came into view. Bright red Legion flags rippled in the breeze and Vulpes frowned; nobody had been here.

"It's too quiet," Crassius remarked.

Vulpes nodded and entered the town's main road, passing by a row of skulls on pikes. Memories of the purging came back – the smoke, the fire, the unwanted excitement – and he felt nothing. Vulpes glanced over to the side of the town hall to the melted pile of rubber he used to pin the mayor down. A spear tip poked out of a pile of ashes and charred bones. He remembered the flames licking at his boots, singing the hair on his leg.

What was he supposed to feel? He felt nothing.

Six would have wanted him to feel remorse for what he did, and Vulpes snorted in contempt. Contempt seemed to be acceptable, and he settled on that. As he passed by a crudely drawn image advertising the town's now enslaved whores, Vulpes concluded that Nipton had it coming. Besides, he didn't do those things; Caesar did. Vulpes was the tool.

Marcus let out a low whistle as they walked past the rows of crosses down the main street.

"When you do it," he chuckled, "you do it thoroughly."

" I do everything thoroughly," Vulpes quipped.

The entered the small, fenced area of trailers and looked around; there was nothing out of the ordinary. It was getting dark, and Vulpes glanced around for a place they could sleep. While one of the filthy trailers wasn't ideal, they would be able to hear and see anyone who tried to sneak up on them.

"We should set up camp," Crassius noted.

While they began preparations, Vulpes climbed up to sit on the roof of one of the trailers. Marcus nodded and knelt down in front of the fire pit. Using a nearby flint, he began to light the half-used tinder.

Vulpes stared out at the desert, scanning for signs of other people. He tried to think of what could cause a blue light, and came up with nothing aside from something technological. As soon as Vulpes turned his head away, he saw something. Giving Marcus a quick order to stop, he craned his head to peer out into the darkness. To the west of the town, a pale, blue light flickered.

He stepped down from his perch, left the gated area, and crept toward the flickering light. It grew stronger as he approached.

Vulpes saw a projector playing a holotape of some sort onto an old theater screen. The projector itself was much too large to be an ordinary projector, and he tried to think of where he might have seen one before.

"There's nobody here," Marcus observed.

Vulpes nodded and relaxed. He approached the machine – satellite, perhaps – with the praetorians close behind. Frowning, he figured that he had better turn it off so that it stopped scaring the locals. They could have a team of securitrons take it back to the Lucky 38 for study.

He reached forward and pressed the large button that was situated near the beam of light. Instead of shutting off, a generator started, and the light grew brighter.

Vulpes turned to warn the praetorians, but it was too late. The gleaming Lucky 38 was the last thing he saw before being swallowed by light.

* * *

Six curled up in the sheets of her bed, her eyes scrunched shut. She tried desperately to sleep, but it just wasn't happening. Sighing, the Courier opened her eyes and tapped the screen of her pip-boy. She cringed when it lit up and told her that it was past three.

Six wondered how Vulpes was doing out there in the cold. Was he keeping warm? Were they able to have enough to eat? Most importantly, did he miss her?

The Courier chastised herself for the selfish thought. People were scared of Nipton enough already, and with flashing lights around, the people who may not have seen many lights before were probably even more scared. So, this was for them.

"Yes Man," Six called out, her voice low.

Her pip-boy flashed, and the bot's face appeared on its screen.

"Yes?" it asked.

"Can you see as far as Nipton?" she whispered.

"Not really," it replied, "why are we whispering?"

Six giggled and put the covers over her head, taking her robot conspirator with her.

"Don't want to wake people up," she replied.

"Oh," Yes Man whispered, "well, I did detect an energy spike out that way a few hours ago."

Her heart froze.

"You didn't tell me?" she whined.

"It was a surge and then it was like something powered down," it replied, "probably means things got taken care of real quick."

"And if not?" Six asked. She hated to ask it, but she had to know.

"If not, then you shouldn't worry too much," Yes Man answered, "those guys are very tough. I wouldn't count them out."

This put her somewhat at ease, and she poked her head out from the covers to lie in bed.

"Yes Man?" she whispered.

"Hm?"

"I'm glad we're friends," Six admitted.

"Well gosh," Yes Man chuckled, "I'm super glad we're friends too. Try to get some sleep."

With that, the bot's face disappeared from her screen. Six rolled over, hugged her pillow, and yawned. She was finally sleepy.

The Courier fell asleep quickly, and hoped that her husband was sleeping well too.

* * *

Graham frowned as he looked out at the Mojave. There was a man out there – a very angry, very strong, seven foot tall man – who hadn't lived outside the Legion before. And he was wandering around alone.

It wasn't often that he was sleepless, but he had the nagging feeling that something was very amiss. Graham peered out at the dark desert, hoping to see a glimpse of the lights that prompted the departure of half of their group. Of course, there was nothing; he felt foolish for trying to see so far.

He heard the elevator open behind him, and he turned around to give Arcade a quick nod.

"Looks like many of us aren't sleeping well," he remarked, "I overheard the Courier talking with Yes Man over an hour ago." It was understandable that Six couldn't sleep; she and Vulpes were still newlyweds. They were attached at the hip.

Graham couldn't help but chuckle. Vulpes was the last person he expected to get married.

Arcade plopped down in the booth next to him and put his head in his hand. From the time that Graham knew the doctor, he saw a man of strong convictions, unwavering morals, and strong – too strong, at times – ideals. So it didn't surprise him that Arcade appeared to be a bit down.

"Is something wrong?" Graham asked.

The doctor stared down at the table, his melancholy written all over his face.

"Have you ever felt like an island?" he asked.

Graham sat down across from him and pondered the question. An island was land floating in the sea; it was usually in a chain of other islands, but still unconnected to any other land mass. It was by itself. Did he mean to say he was lonely?

"Yes," Graham replied. He felt like an island every day. There was nobody that quite understood him and what his life was like, other than God himself. The fact that the Creator knew him was a very comforting thought. He was never truly alone.

"Why?" Arcade asked.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" Graham quipped.

The doctor sighed and threw his hands up in exasperation.

"You're answering a question with a question," Arcade frowned.

"You're avoiding a conversation," Graham nodded, "that's clear enough."

The doctor turned away from his gaze and stared out at the desert. Graham decided not to push it; Arcade would talk about what was bothering him soon enough.

Instead, they sat in the cocktail lounge, and watched as the sun slowly rose over the Mojave mountains.

* * *

A low hum, like the sound of a subterranean generator, awoke him. The metal floor beneath his body was warm where he had been laying, and his back felt stiff. He must have been out for hours. Vulpes cringed as he opened his eyes. His head pounded in a dull throb; his vision blurred.

Groaning, he sat up and immediately regretted it. Vulpes put his head in his hands as he tried to steady himself. That was when he felt it.

His head had been shaved down to the skin, and the flesh felt different in places. It felt like scars, running down the length of his scalp in what appeared to be surgical precision.

The lights were a trap.

Vulpes lifted his head and looked around. He was on the observation deck of a tall tower, overlooking a glowing, red valley. Scattered about were long lines of pipe, and buildings with empty smokestacks. If he escaped from the tower, there could be a long list of potential places to hide. The problem, however, lay in the blue fence around the perimeter of the valley; it appeared to be a force field of sorts. A breeze blew through his thin hospital gown, causing him to involuntarily shiver. This place had to be at a higher altitude than the rest of the Mojave. He was trapped within this place, nearly naked, and there appeared to be no natural resources for him to live off of. The situation was very grim from a survival standpoint.

A groan sounded to his left, and Vulpes turned to see Crassius begin to awaken. Surgical scars were visible on the man's head, confirming Vulpes' suspicions. It hadn't been necessary for the surgeon to shave his mohawk, and he felt somewhat jealous. At least the man appeared to be left more intact than he did.

"You okay?" Vulpes asked. His voice felt weak to his own ears.

Crassius turned to look at him and sighed in relief.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice hoarse. They probably had tubes down their throats not too long ago.

Vulpes stood on shaky legs and made his way around the platform in an attempt to find a door. He didn't have to turn around to know that Crassius was following.

The small platform circled around the tower, providing them a better view of their surroundings. Unfortunately, the area was completely secure, and there appeared to be no good way out. There was, however, a door further down, and a familiar figure sitting with his back to the tower.

"Good to see you're up, Marcus," Vulpes greeted.

Like them, his scalp showed signs of surgical scars. Vulpes didn't like the idea that someone cut his head open, but there was little he could do until he found the one responsible.

Marcus didn't say anything. Perhaps, he was still recovering from the anesthesia.

Crouching down, he grabbed Marcus' shoulder and gave it a quick shake.

"Marcus," he called.

Nothing.

"This isn't the time to play games," Crassius groused.

Marcus stared out at the valley, barely breathing. Every few seconds, he blinked.

The person he knew as Marcus wasn't there.


	7. Chapter 7

A/n: I hate not being able to update every week, but it's just been so insane trying to find the time to write with classes and design club and bleh :/

At least I get to post small snippets of pieces of this fic on my tumblr!

* * *

"He could be –"

Vulpes paused, trying to recall the exact phrase he read.

"Stuck," he concluded, the word sounding wrong to his ears.

"Stuck?" Crassius repeated.

Vulpes shook his head. Not stuck. It involved being stuck, however; stuck inside his own head, against his will, and unable to speak, hear, or comprehend what was going on around him.

"Locked-in," Vulpes corrected, "locked-in syndrome."

Or did locked-in syndrome involve just paralysis? He couldn't remember if the one he was thinking about involved an access to memories and cognitive function or not. Regardless, Vulpes could attempt to assess the damage.

He knelt down in front of Marcus and looked him in the eyes.

"If you can hear me," he ordered, "blink twice."

There was no facial movement, and no blinking out of the ordinary.

Crassius stood to the side, visibly anxious. Vulpes didn't want to tell him the bad news, but he had a right to know.

"Nothing," he announced.

"What's that mean?" Crassius asked.

"I don't know," Vulpes sighed, "but it isn't good." If he had a light of some sort, he could shine it in Marcus' eyes to see if his pupils were reactive. If his pupils were reactive then –

He forgot what that meant.

Vulpes stood, his head swimming. He had to get inside the tower and try to figure out what happened. There were boxes nearby, and Vulpes searched them for a weapon of some sort. The best he could come up with was a pencil; it would have to do.

"Stay here with him," Vulpes nodded, "I will sneak inside and attempt to infiltrate their security measures."

"What's with the pencil?" Crassius asked.

"Stabbing," he replied, "through the eye. A bit messy, but I've done it before and it works surprisingly well. "

Vulpes leaned to the side of the door and pressed the button to open it. It slid down, revealing an empty room. He darted over the rubber mat on the floor and slipped inside the tower. The metal floor was cold on his bare feet, but his lack of footwear muffled any sound. And as he stepped onto a roughly textured rubber mat, Vulpes wished that his feet retained some of their tribal callouses from when he was young.

In front of him appeared to be a small command center, complete with a map of the area. Vulpes peered into the room, saw no surveillance, and approached the map. His heart sank when he read the location; he was at the Big MT, a place that existed only in stories.

Vulpes did find a way to escape the Sierra Madre, but at the time, he was alone. Now he had another potential person to help, and another person that would need constant care. Would Marcus even be able to swallow food?

He shook the thoughts from his head and chastised himself into focusing on the task at hand. Vulpes glanced into the rooms adjacent to the map room, and saw a lab to the right, and living quarters to the left. There was nothing out of the ordinary in these rooms, and he moved forward into the hallway.

There were two doors here with signs; one appeared to lead to Big Mt proper, and one that led to a place called the Think Tank. Perhaps it was the smooth, non-offensive jazz coming from the direction of the Think Tank, or the prospect of the unknown that made Vulpes decide to approach the mysterious door. It opened easily to reveal a small elevator. Against his better judgment, he entered and rode it to its one-way destination. When it opened, a blast of cool air hit him, along with the strong smell of medicine and sanitizer. This had to be the place where it happened.

He stepped across the threshold and walked up a ramp that was lit with soft, blue lights. It was cool and cozy, and altogether inviting.

The pencil clattered to the ground as he realized how barbaric and silly the thought of stabbing someone with it was. These people probably didn't know him; they probably didn't understand what they did to Marcus.

Vulpes reached the top of the ramp and peered into a room that looked like a command center. Strange-looking robots floated around, and they turned at once to look at him. They had large, round bodies, with monitors on hinges protruding from the bodies, displaying eyes and a mouth. The bots didn't appear dexterous enough to have performed the surgery, but he had a much more alarming, pressing question on the mind:

Why wasn't he angry?

"I thought I heard the pacification field kick in," one of them grumbled, "alright, nobody move, I can handle this." It appeared to be panicked.

The bot hovered somewhat closer to him and leaned down.

"Be warned, intruder!" it shouted, "You are in the presence of the mighty Think Tank of Big Mountain, the collective geniuses of... we –"

It stopped and turned around in the direction of one of the other bots.

"By Oppenheimer, which one of you self-professed geniuses has been adjusting my volume knob? Was it you, 8?"

The one called 8 replied in a long wave of static.

"Oh, Doctor O, was it?" the main bot replied, "A likely story. O couldn't spark two neurons if they were in a lattice of biomed gel!"

"What, me?" the presumed Dr. O replied, "Breaking news: it wasn't me, Klein. I'm a robotical engineer. 8 is sound waves; that's his specialty. You always do this! You always demean me in front of guests, and it's not O, it's –"

"Enough!" Klein shouted, "if either of you do it again it'll be the last time. Now, what was I saying? I forgot what I was talking about."

Vulpes didn't have the slightest clue what the bot was talking about before he interrupted himself. Since there was silence, he figured that he'd better interject before the bots began to bicker again.

"Are you the ones who performed this surgery on me?" he asked. Vulpes wanted to attempt to work this out.

Klein whirled around to stare at him, the eyes on his monitors blinking rapidly in confusion.

"Did it just say something?" Klein marveled, "Did anyone catch that? Bourus, you work with animals. Translate. It's a lobotomite, here! In the dome!"

Vulpes narrowed his eyes at the bot. He knew what a lobotomy was, and it would explain why he and his friends were both scarred. It would also explain why Marcus wasn't moving.

"Oh, as if it couldn't get any worse, now we've got lobotomites," the bot lamented, "Quick, Dala, get the spray before it excretes all over everything."

"I wake up here, all cut apart," Vulpes hissed, "and so are my friends. One of them is not responding to what we say. I want answers, now."

"Dr. Klein," one of the bots interrupted, "if I am correct, this lobotomite is the repository of the brain we sent the signal to – the skinvelope once containing it. If so, it's proof that there may indeed be something beyond the crater. Just look at it; the way it blinks. It's like a big, hairless teddy bear – a scrawny, white teddy bear."

Vulpes could show them what he thought of that observation – scrawny – if he felt like it. But he didn't.

"I know what it is, Dala," Klein replied, "I want to know why it's down here, with its limbs all over everything. And are those penises I see wriggling on its feet? Disgusting."

"I believe those are toes," Dala interjected, "little teddy bear toes. Penises are much larger than those tiny extremities, not that I would know."

"That's not a penis," Vulpes laughed, "but I could show you one if you'd like."

Klein gasped and hovered away from him.

"You wouldn't dare," he insisted.

Vulpes shrugged and lifted his medical gown. If he couldn't attack these abominations for what they did, he could at the very least go out of his way to spite them.

"I don't ever recall a human penis being that big," Klein noted, and if the bot had more on the way of facial expressions, it would have been frowning.

It leaned in to get a closer look, and suddenly backed away with a shriek.

"It's uncircumcised!" the bot shouted, "It's uncircumcised and it's disgusting and barbaric!"

Vulpes lifted an eyebrow at the bot's observation. Wasn't that an Old World Jewish practice? He backed away and dropped the gown back in place as the bot that called him scrawny hovered closer to him.

"Look at its little nose," Dala marveled, "two tiny orifices made for ingesting oxygen."

"Noses?" Klein snorted, "By the great static, these lobotomites confound me with their dozens of useless extremities."

Vulpes sighed, wondering when the bots would stop bickering amongst themselves and pay attention to him. One of them turned to him, and he waved his hands and gave them a nod. It was not unlike communicating with ignorant tribals.

"What?" Klein gasped, "Did we institute electroshock? Or is it excreting?"

"Wait!" a bot interrupted, "Those gestures were not random at all. I believe it is trying to communicate with us. The lobotomite understands us."

"I agree," Dala said, "this lobotomite is unusually attentive for one whose brain has been extracted."

Vulpes recoiled in horror while the bots bickered amongst each other about whether he could understand them. If his brain had been removed, it was a safe bet that Marcus' brain had been removed, or at least part of it. But how did he survive such an operation?

Klein ordered the other bots to be quiet, and told them that he would prove to them once and for all that they were wrong, and that Vulpes couldn't understand him.

"Lobotomite," he shouted, "Do you understand me? Can you speak?" Each word was long and drawn out, as if he was speaking to a toddler.

Vulpes cursed under his breath at them. He had been trying to speak with them the entire time.

"Those were words, weren't they?" Klein mumbled, "In the form of an insult, and in Latin, the language of Science! Is this a trick? Our efforts have turned against us! In playing God, we created a monster!"

Oh, hell.

"Perhaps when we were ruthlessly lobotomizing it with our cutters," Dala interjected, "we filled this skinvelope with new awareness. A teddy bear with new stuffing."

"So that's what you did?" Vulpes hissed, "My friend out there is as useless as a vegetable, and you think this is fine?"

A sudden wave of calm overcame him, and Vulpes nearly blacked out from its strength.

"The lobotomite is fighting the pacification barrier," Klein grumbled, "it could become problematic. We should put it down –"

He was cut off by one of the Think Tank announcing that there was a transmission coming in from 'the Forbidden Zone'. The main screen in front of them crackled as another bot appeared.

"If it isn't my old colleagues," the bot shouted, "the mighty Think Tank of Big MT. Big fools, all of you! It is I, Dr. Mobius, transmitting to you from my dome in the Forbidden Zone! Even now, my deadly Robo-scorpions swarm across Bit MT with their pincers and pointy laser tails. Soon, all of Science shall be mine! Nothing can save you, so cower in your Think Tank!"

There was a long pause as the Think Tank stared at the screen. Mobius turned to the left then turned back toward the camera that sent his transmission.

"Erm, goodbye," Mobius added. The transmission ended as abruptly as it began.

As the Think Tank argued and worried among themselves about Dr. Mobius and his threats, Vulpes formulated a plan. They were obviously unable to confront their nemesis, and obviously worried that he would try to get one over on them. They needed someone who could easily go in and take care of Mobius, and what better than Vulpes himself? He was a born infiltrator.

Vulpes turned his attention back to the conversation.

"We scooped out its brain," Klein argued, "and we don't even know where we put it! Even if we did, we wouldn't have the knowledge to put it back."

His heart fell immediately. Marcus' brain wasn't likely to be found either, and even if it was, it couldn't be put back in. These creatures destroyed the man who saved his life, a man of honor. Vulpes couldn't feel anger in this place, but he quickly discovered that he could feel sorrow – something that he would have bottled up and shoved aside in favor of rage and revenge.

"But it has awareness," Dala countered, "it's looking at us right now, with its sad, teddy bear eyes. If we ask it politely, and leave the part about ruthlessly lobotomizing it out, it might be favorably disposed to us."

"Too late," Vulpes replied, "you lobotomized me, and you did it to my friend too. He is completely unresponsive. I am rather unfavorably disposed to the lot of you."

"But once the brain came out," Klein interjected, "in went the coils. The Tesla coils; the coils of Nikola Tesla."

Vulpes had his memories intact, as well as his thoughts. It wasn't enough, however. They essentially killed Marcus.

"This doesn't explain the laser-sutures on my chest and spine," Vulpes deadpanned. None of this could be real, but the residual throbbing told him that it had to be.

"I assume full responsibility," Dala admitted, "I take pride in my duties of prodding and excision of living, breathing tissue quite seriously."

"First was the heart!" Klein announced, "I mean, second was the heart; brain was first. Third was the spine!"

"If you ripped out my brain," Vulpes asked, "then where the hell is it?"

"The auto doc did all the work," Dala replied, "and it was a lot of work. It was so much that it shorted out its own memory. When it went on to the second surgery, it removed part of the brain then dropped it on the floor. I bet your brain remembers what happened."

"May have gotten flushed down one of the pipes," Klein interjected, "and if so, it was flushed straight to Dr. Mobius! In all the probablest of probabilities, Dr. Mobius has your brain. He will most likely come after our brains next. We want you to stop him somehow – with Science."

"First you almost kill me," Vulpes laughed, "and then you practically kill my friend, and now you want me to help you?"

"That is correct," Klein replied, "I hope you're not demonstrating resentment now. If you are, then we can't have that."

He crossed his arms and stared the bot down.

"If I get my friend's brain and my own back," he nodded, "then I'll consider helping."

"Oh," Klein replied, "Can it say no?" The bot glanced around for confirmation.

"I can," Vulpes replied, "and I will do it again. Your current terms are unacceptable. No, and goodbye."

He turned to leave, and waited for them to beg after him.

"You can't leave!" Klein announced.

Vulpes paused. He had them now.

"And I don't mean that as a threat," Klein continued, "There is a force field, and you cannot physically leave Big MT."

Dala began to rattle off what specifically would happen to him if he tried to leave, including impairment, loss of memory and his nerves systematically degrading. They weren't exactly begging him to stay and help, but he couldn't leave if he tried. At the same time, the Think Tank needed someone to willingly help. They were at an impasse.

"Fine," he sighed, "but I want details of what happened in the three surgeries that just took place."

"Excellent," Klein replied, "this will work out nicely."

They explained that they needed certain technologies, and Vulpes interrupted before Klein went on another tirade.

"I want the details of the surgeries now," he deadpanned.

Dala hovered closer and circled around him slowly. It – she – was rather interested in him. He could use this to his advantage. Inside that robot shell was a woman, a woman, on all counts, that appeared to be attracted to him in some way.

"Yours was first," she said, "and everything went as planned. This wore the autodoc out, and when the second surgery went underway, an accident occurred. Only a small part of the brain was removed, and dropped on the floor before being flushed. The third surgery was much more cautious, much more exploratory in nature. Precautions were taken to ensure that one will not awaken for a time."

Was the third one Marcus? Vulpes never heard of drugs that could do such a thing, and he squashed his hopes in favor of being realistic.

"Who was the third surgery?" He asked.

"The red spotty bear," Dala replied.

Vulpes masked his disappointment and decided to address what was important; he had to make this trip, but he would only do so if he could ensure that Marcus had care.

"You must have forgotten to move a decimal," he announced, "The one you call 'red spotty bear' is awake, and he's very angry about what happened to the second man –"

"Brown eyed bear," Dala interjected.

"Right," Vulpes sighed, "regardless, he's unresponsive. I will not do a thing for you until I am assured that he will be cared for. This means no surgeries, exploratory or otherwise."

The rest of the bickering Think Tank cut into their conversation as Vulpes turned his head to see what the commotion was.

"What are you doing, 8?" Klein grumbled.

"I think he's sonjaculating into the gun, getting it warmed up," Dr. O replied, his voice nervous.

Vulpes stared on in mute horror as 8 shuddered over what looked like a gun. He realized that maybe he shouldn't be watching and quickly squashed the thought. These things dragged him out of his home, stripped him naked, and then called his penis – that was always complimented and never complained about – barbaric and disgusting. And now, one of them was 'sonjaculating' in front of everyone like an animal.

When the act was done, Klein and O began to argue about who would hand the gun to Vulpes until Dala interjected.

"I'll give it," she groused, "You two need to stop ignoring your own technological needs. I'll purify it."

As Dr. Dala held the gun and hummed at it, Vulpes concluded that he had to have lost his mind. Getting trapped at the Sierra Madre Casino was more believable than this.

"There, all anti-bacterial fresh," Dala cooed, "Here, my little scrawny bear, I've remove all Robco termlink code spew from the device. It is clean, shiny, and ready for your hands."

Vulpes didn't want to hold it, but figured that he held much more disgusting things before. Sighing, he took it and turned it over in his hands. It was a simple-looking energy weapon, with pistol grips. On the back, where a slide would normally pop out, was a small screen with a sound wave. It didn't look very powerful.

"This looks like an energy projectile," he frowned, "Do you have something that shoots lead?"

"I think it wants a combustion pistol," Dr. O mused.

"A gun?!" Klein shouted, "Are you mad? Guns kill!"

Dala turned toward Klein and motioned toward him, and Vulpes found it interesting that she would defend him to her colleagues.

"We have already given the scrawny bear a lethal sonic deathray," she noted, "filled with 8's sonic ejaculate and sterilized by my soft 'woowooing'."

A lethal sonic deathray? Vulpes looked down at the innocent energy pistol in his hands and grinned. He could do a lot of damage with this.

"We could give it the cyberdog gun," Borous said.

"Fine," Klein grumbled, "Anything else, lobotomite?"

Borous came forward with a long rifle that had dog ears attached to the top. As Vulpes received it, it barked at him. Frowning, he checked the chamber for ammo and found none.

"This gun needs ammo," he replied, "unless you want me to beat things over the head with it."

"Borous," Klein ordered, "more ammo."

Borous came forward with more ammo, as well as a microchip. Vulpes loaded the cyberdog gun and holstered it on his back, ignoring its whine.

"Install this chip into the Sink in the room at the bottom of the elevator," Klein ordered, "the Sink will cater to most of your hormonal whims."

Vulpes nodded; hopefully, this would be more helpful than the Think Tank's other attempts at providing aid.

"I will bring in the other two now," he announced, "don't do anything stupid to double-cross us."

Amid another outbreak of arguing, Vulpes turned around, walked back down the ramp, and entered the elevator. It opened at the Sink, and the rage that had been artificially repressed bubbled to the surface.

Vulpes paced in front of the door, furious that he made a deal with them instead of outsmarting and undermining them. If he didn't need the Think Tank to get his and Marcus' brains in order, he would find a way to kill them all. Grumbling, he figured he had better make the best of the situation. Vulpes could either punch the wall and break his hand like a child, or he could install the chip to the sink and get going on providing for his trek across Big MT.

Turning around, he quickly found a slot on the console of the map to insert the chip. It booted up within seconds, and lights flashed as a speaker crackled on.

"Salutations and felicitations, sir," it greeted, "and a most jocund welcome to the Sink. I am your electronic valet and central processor. How may I be of service, sir?"

Vulpes smiled; finally, respect where it was due.

"Are you an AI?" he asked.

"Regrettably not, sir," the Sink replied, "all modules in this habitat are synthetic properties on top of a mundane operating system. There is no intelligence here."

"I'll be back in a bit, then," Vulpes nodded, somewhat disheartened that the Sink's respect was manufactured.

Steeling himself, he turned and put his hand on the button to open the door. He didn't want to tell Crassius the bad news.

* * *

Crassius shivered in the cold and huddled closer to Marcus. He wondered how someone so dead could still be so warm. It had to mean that there was life in there, somewhere. There was hope; he just knew it. But he couldn't do this alone; he needed Vulpes. But if he was captured, there would be no hope. Crassius couldn't carry Marcus and successfully defend himself.

As soon as he began to worry about Vulpes, the door to the tower opened. Vulpes stepped out, and the door shut behind him. He glared in the direction he came.

"We're in," he nodded.

Crassius glanced over at Marcus and took a shaky breath.

"In what?" he asked. He hoped his eyes weren't red from earlier. Crying was a shameful thing; it was for women and children.

Vulpes sighed and looked down at the floor.

"It's complicated," he frowned. Their eyes met, and Crassius sucked in a breath. The news wasn't good; it couldn't be from the look Vulpes gave him.

"What's complicated?" Crassius asked.

"Let's go inside," Vulpes nodded. He was putting him off; Crassius wouldn't have it.

"Tell me first," he insisted.

"I made a deal," Vulpes began.

Crassius stood and stared him down. He made a deal, without his consent. The Fox backed up against the wall in defense.

"I didn't want to!" he protested, "There's something going on up there. When you're in their room, you lose your ability to be angry."

"And you lost your ability to reason?" Crassius hissed.

"It was mental castration," Vulpes clipped, "we're stuck here unless we help them. This entire crater is sealed off with a fence we cannot escape. My brain has been completely removed, and Marcus' brain was damaged. We have to find my brain, and a piece of his in order to leave and still be normal."

He put his hands up in a placating gesture, and the praetorian paused as the reality of the situation hit him. Marcus' brain was damaged.

"There is no easy fix for this," Vulpes insisted, his voice low. "I made a deal."

There was pain in his eyes, and Crassius realized that this wasn't a game. Vulpes did the best he could with a terrible situation. Sighing, he backed down. He understood.

"Let's get inside where it's warm," Vulpes suggested.

As they shouldered Marcus and carried him in, Vulpes explained their bargain. There were scientists from the Old World that preserved themselves, and called themselves the Think Tank. They needed to confront their nemesis; the brain and brain parts would be with the nemesis who lived across the crater. To this end, they provided Vulpes with weapons. Perhaps, the auto-doc could be fixed to undo the damage with Marcus. There was someone who could care for Marcus; Vulpes had yet to persuade this part of the deal, but seemed confident that there would be no issues.

They carried Marcus through the tower and into a small elevator. As they rode their way up to the Think Tank, Vulpes offered a quick description of the members. The leader was Klein; he kept a poor lid on his followers. While the others were their own individuals, the key to their persuasion lay in Dr. Dala, who seemed particularly interested in humans. Crassius didn't have to ask to know that this was the one who would care for Marcus while he was gone.

When the elevator opened, any lingering resentment he held for Vulpes was gone. Instead of being angry that he had to work for these abominations, he was glad that he had some way that he could fix all of this. But above it all was the overwhelming feeling of despair. He couldn't fix anything; he couldn't take action. Vulpes must have sensed this and turned around to give him a sympathetic nod.

"It's an indescribably awful feeling," he remarked, "like weakness that cannot be overcome."

Crassius nodded silently in agreement. If he said anything in reply, he knew he would choke up and be unable to go on. The anger over what happened to Marcus was the only thing keeping him together before.

They walked up the ramp and into the heart of the Think Tank's central chamber. Robots floated around, and Crassius supposed this was them. It was somewhat relieving that they didn't look like securitrons; he never got used to them after what happened at Fortification Hill.

"So, this is the other one?" the bot in the front asked.

"Yes, Dr. Klein," a female bot replied.

Klein floated closer to inspect him, and Crassius stood still.

"He's rather big," Klein mumbled, "look at the muscles. Glad we have the pacification barrier."

"It could rip our monitors from our bodies!" one of the bots marveled.

"Don't remind me, Borous," Klein grumbled, "do not even remind me."

"Why isn't that one moving?" another bot whispered, "the one in the back?"

Vulpes glanced over at the one that asked the question.

"That's because you damaged his brain," he snorted, "incompetent jacka –"

He grimaced and grabbed his head, while Crassius watched the barrier kick in. The fact that he was cut off in mid-sentence must have angered him even more. Vulpes grumbled and doubled over as he was overcome with pacification; his fabled temper was getting the better of him.

Crassius turned toward the female bot to ask for help. He slowly lowered Marcus to the floor, trying not to think too much about how he slumped over when unaided.

"This is Marcus," he said, "when we go out, he will need help. He cannot move." Crassius wondered how they could help a man that probably lost his ability to swallow food. How was this going to work?

"No!" Klein interjected, "we will not have one of those filthy things in our lair! It will excrete everywhere."

"I will take it to where it won't bother you," Dala groused, turning her back on Klein. "Come with me, little teddy bears."

Crassius lifted Marcus again and followed Dala up a ramp to a small room off to the side of the lair. There appeared to be a padded table in the middle of the room, and Crassius laid him there. Vulpes glanced behind them and closed the door. He mouthed a question to Dala; would the other ones overhear them?

Dala gave him a quick 'no' and Vulpes smiled.

"I don't want them to hear," he murmured, "I don't want them getting jealous. You're clearly the smartest one here."

The eyes on Dala's monitors blinked rapidly and looked away from Vulpes.

"Oh, well, I –"

"It's true," Vulpes continued, "you understand that working with us is integral to this entire operation. That's why need to ask a small favor of you."

He motioned toward Marcus, and Dala's attention immediately snapped to him.

"He needs care," he said, "care that we can't give him. His brain can't give him directions to eat; he will need a tube inserted into his stomach to do that for him. He will need a catheter. He will need to be cleaned regularly, and turned every so often so that he doesn't get bedsores."

Crassius swallowed; he didn't know it was that bad. This was terrible.

"I know this is quite a bit of work," Vulpes sighed, "and I would be absolutely indebted to you for your assistance. But this is an excellent opportunity for your research. While you provide care, you can study more based on your observations. Think about it; a real, living, breathing human here for you to observe. You can watch involuntary processes as they happen. It's truly a wealth of knowledge, ready for your direct observation."

Dala said nothing, seemingly enraptured by Vulpes speaking. He seemed to notice this and gave her a small smile.

"They are more interesting when aware," Dala admitted.

Vulpes nodded slowly in agreement.

"By doing this," he declared, "you will help us restore awareness. It will be a triumph of Science."

"Oh, yes," Dala agreed, "that it will be, little scrawny bear."

Crassius held in a laugh and kept a straight face. His years as a praetorian guard helped out in rather unexpected ways.

"And what will the red spotty bear do?" Dala asked, turning to him.

"Help Vulpes with his mission," he replied.

The doctor seemed disappointed, but hid it well. Crassius had his reservations about leaving Marcus alone, but at the same time, he was bound by honor to help Vulpes in any way necessary.

"You're coming with me?" Vulpes asked, "Wouldn't you want to stay with him?"

Crassius looked back at Marcus and shook his head; Marcus wouldn't miss him.

"I don't want to let you do this alone," he sighed, "this is my fight as well."

Vulpes nodded and followed Dr. Dala back out into the Think Tank's main chamber. The others turned expectantly toward them. Everything that Vulpes planned came through; they just had to have the consent of the other members of the Think Tank.

"I have agreed to care for the brown-eyed bear," Dala announced.

The rest of the Think Tank erupted in protest and Vulpes raised his hands to silence them.

"She is obviously willing to do what is necessary for us to do our job," he remarked, "more than you others have."

They were silent; Vulpes drove the invisible wedge deeper. Watching him work so efficiently after having surgery was unnerving.

"What more do you want," Klein grumbled, "you inferior ball of dust?"

"Just one thing," he replied, "it's rather cold out there. It would be nice to have our clothes back from earlier, as well as our weapons."

"There was a .44 magnum in there," Klein protested, "I'm not inclined to return it; that's a dangerous weapon."

"The sonic deathray is much more powerful," Dala interjected, "we should let it have its toys; it will have better chance of success with familiar tools."

"Then go fetch their trinkets," Klein relented, "and get them out of my sight."

Crassius shook his head in awe as Dala left to collect their items. Vulpes got everything back for them, save the missing brains, and those were as good as theirs were.

Dala returned with a large bag. Dropping it in front of Vulpes, she turned to Crassius and pulled him aside. She had something special for him.

"This, my little spotty bear," she whispered, "is a pip-boy. You put your big, strong arm into the glove, and it will hold you forever. It will tell you where to go within the crater, and what to get. Just worry about surviving, strong one."

Vulpes looked at his arm for a moment too long; this was the device the Courier had, and he seemed fascinated with it. Was he jealous? Crassius was sure that it wouldn't fit Vulpes' smaller arm; otherwise, he would let him have it.

Crassius thanked Dala for the device, and shouldered their bag of gear. They quickly took their leave, and rode the elevator back down to the Sink. The bag was deposited onto the floor, and they began to gear up for their journey. Each piece that came out of the bag that belonged to Marcus filled him with dread. Maybe he wouldn't be able to be fixed. Crassius tried to squash the idea; Vulpes was very clever, and seemed to have this under control. He trusted him to do this the right way. The only problem was that the Think Tank was very old, and very smart. They could be much more clever than they let on.

"If I didn't know you better," Crassius conceded, "I'd think you to be of a slimy sort at the moment. The amount of lying you did –"

"Truth," Vulpes interjected, "with a twist of flavoring."

As the Fox finished gearing up, Crassius could only hope that they wouldn't get caught in his tangled web.

* * *

When she woke up, the signal came. It called her out, telling her that they had to 'settle this'. She didn't know what there was to settle, with someone who didn't call her by her previous name. She couldn't have been known by Six before Benny shot her, and she didn't think she did anything that would have made someone this angry in the past year, unless they were Legion or NCR.

So they had to be from one of those groups. Six knew there would be repercussions for what she did, but never imagined that someone would be that angry. And, if they were, they should have just come to talk to her. Instead, they wanted her to come to them; Six didn't have to think too hard to know how dangerous that was.

Six frowned as Yes Man scanned her pip-boy again. She didn't want to deal with this.

"I can't trace this signal very well," the bot admitted, "whoever made it is good at covering their tracks, or it could be because of the Divide."

The Divide; she just learned of this place when she got the signal. It was a place that was completely devoid of life. Something happened there to create powerful winds, and no rain. Six couldn't think of why she would ever want to be there, but this man was. She didn't know him, and only knew one thing; he sounded mean, and very angry.

He told her to come alone, but Six wasn't that dumb. She wouldn't play his game, at least, not entirely. Because of her position, she was certain that this was a trap, and she would bring someone very smart and strong with her.

The thought brought her to her current predicament; whom would she take with her? Everyone was gone.

Ideally, Six would have brought Vulpes. He was smart, strong, clever, and able to talk himself out of almost any situation. She needed his finesse to help with this challenger. Besides, the Courier wanted to have some alone time with her husband.

But he was gone, along with all the other Legionaries – the muscle – and she had to think out of the box.

It then hit her who she should bring: Graham was very smart, and deceptively strong. To top it off, Vulpes would definitely trust him with her. He was like a dad of sorts – kind of – if one could overlook the genocidal warlord past bits.

With her mind made up, Six decided to talk to Yes Man about it.

"I need someone to come with me," she nodded, "since this guy isn't playing around."

"I agree," Yes man replied.

"I'd bring Vulpes –"

"Bad idea," the bot interjected.

Six blinked in shock. She and Vulpes were the ultimate team.

"Why?" she asked.

"You tend to end up doing whatever he wants," Yes Man admitted, "and while that's been good for you at times, it might not be the best in this situation. You need someone to protect you and be quiet."

"But he's very smart," Six protested.

"And you are too," Yes Man insisted, "You might not think you are, but you're really smart about things."

Six sighed and let Yes Man think whatever he wanted. She never thought herself to be particularly smart, but she wouldn't protest it. At least she was smart enough that Yes Man chose her to be the communicator between the people and him. But she wasn't smart enough to take over or anything, and she never wanted to really be in charge.

"Anyway," she continued, "I was thinking of taking Mr. Graham with me."

"Excellent idea!" the bot chirped, "as long as he doesn't dehydrate and get heat stroke from not having sweat glands, it'll work out fine!"

"Okay, then," Six frowned, unsure where Yes Man was going with this. Graham did fine with traveling to the Mojave, and Goodsprings. She just didn't see it.

Regardless, she had someone to go with her. With her mind made up, Six gave Yes Man a quick goodbye – probably unnecessary; he was always watching – and made her way to the elevator. She rode it down to the Presidential suite, hopped off, and looked around for Graham.

He was in his usual spot at the kitchen table, reading his holy book.

"Mr. Graham?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Inculta?" he replied. He looked up from his book.

Oh.

She was Mrs. Inculta, wasn't she? He must have seen her surprise, because he chuckled to himself.

"About a year ago," she explained, "he took me to the Fort and proposed to me. I said no. Did you know that?"

"I did not," he replied, "and I'll admit that surprises me. He was always rather independent. I always figured you were the one that caught him, not the other way around."

Independent was one way of putting it; Six knew exactly what her husband was up to before they met. She didn't like thinking about all those other women, so she opted to change the subject.

"Anyway," Six nodded, "I want you to hear this, and see what you think."

She turned on her pip-boy, and tuned it to the signal's frequency. As the message played, Graham's usual serious expression soured into a frown. He didn't like this either.

"A challenge could be terrible," he noted, "but it could also be a good thing. But something bothers me about this person; the voice is familiar, and I can't quite place it."

That wasn't good. It meant that this guy had to be Legion. And that meant that he would be very tough.

"Will you come with me to help me deal with this?" Six asked.

There was a long silence as Graham looked down at the table in thought.

"It's not that I don't want to," he sighed, "It's that I would be a hindrance to your travels."

"I don't think so," she replied, "you're like, really good at stuff." She tilted head to the side, something she always did when confused. It usually had positive effect on people, so Six never bothered to change the habit.

Graham didn't have any facial expressions to speak of, save the area of his face that wasn't wrapped so he could see. He normally had a stern expression, as if he frowned for most of his life. But now, his brows, what sparse amount he had, uncreased.

Many people gave her this look. Vulpes did when she said something that would make him feel good. Arcade did when she said something about wanting to help people. But most of the time, it was when someone heard her story about how she got shot in the head, or when she said something dumb.

So, she must have said something dumb.

Six wanted to sigh in frustration, but thought better of it. She had to play this up, or something. Before she could plan her next move, however, Yes Man called down to her.

"Hey, so Lanius is back!"

* * *

He felt equal parts disgusted and satisfied. Lanius rode the elevator up to the Presidential suite. He was somewhat prepared for the chaos that he had come back to; Marcus and Vulpes bickering, Arcade nervously twitching at nearly every conversation, Veronica chattering incessantly, and the sounds of sex – loud, obnoxious sex. At that thought, he had half the mind to turn around and leave again, but the elevator couldn't be interrupted.

It opened to quiet, and Lanius immediately knew that something was off. The Courier leaned on the doorframe to the kitchen, her arms crossed against her chest, and her legs crossed at the ankles.

"So, where have you been?" she drawled, as if he walked out on her. They weren't lovers, and she certainly hadn't set any parameters to his stay in her home.

Given the look on her face, however, he was positive that she wasn't pleased.

"I went out," he replied, looking down at the floor.

"To?" she pressed.

"To Boulder City," he replied.

"There are insurgents in Boulder City," she groused, "why did you go there?"

"To see someone," Lanius replied. He still couldn't look at her.

"To do what?" Six demanded.

"To get laid," he admitted, his voice sounding small.

Veronica cackled in the next room, and he continued to stare down at the floor in shame. Lanius expected Vulpes to come out into the hallway and say something obnoxious, but he was nowhere to be seen. As if reading his mind, the Courier gave him an answer.

"The Legionaries were sent to Nipton to investigate a disturbance," she said, "all but one, who went missing. I certainly hope they don't need him. It would be very unfortunate for him if something happened to them and he wasn't there to help, wouldn't you agree?"

From his time in the Legion, Lanius knew it was a rhetorical question. Caesar did the same thing to people before punishing them.

"If you're going to go somewhere," Six frowned, "then you're going to tell me where you want to go, and ask permission."

Lanius swallowed and nodded slowly. She was treating him like a child, and he was thoroughly humiliated.

"I'm not like this usually," she continued, "but who you are and what you've done merits this kind of treatment."

He looked at the floor in shame. For the first time in his life, Lanius felt naked. He felt her eyes upon him and didn't dare meet her gaze.

"Swear your loyalty to me," she ordered.

"I –"

"On your knees!" the Courier demanded.

This woman was reminding him of Caesar, and it terrified him more than it should have.

He bent down to bow before her, and realized that when he was at knee level, he was still taller than she was. It didn't matter, though; Lanius bowed to make himself lower than her.

"Domina, I –"

"If you're going to start an excuse, I don't want to hear it," she grumbled, "now, swear."

At least the other Legionaries were gone. His humiliation was less public, and for that, he was grateful. Lanius would say something similar to her as he would have said to Caesar.

"I live because you allow it," he began, "I exist for your purpose; I am your tool, to use and dispose of as you see fit. I shall do nothing apart from your will. I shall not take breath unless you permit it."

Doing what he did to Vulpes was the worst mistake of his life; chasing after him when he should have just gone off into the wilderness and died was the second worst.

He was scum. He deserved this humiliation.

"Jesus!" the Courier gasped, "you can breathe when you want, for God's sake!"

Noted. If this weren't so serious, he would laugh.

"Still," she continued, "that's good. Remember your place. I don't have time to babysit you."

Lanius figured he would be bold and ask her what she would like him to do. It was risky, but it was proactive at the same time.

"Are there any tasks I can assist with to show my loyalty?" he asked.

Graham appeared in the doorway behind the Courier and Lanius fought the urge to stand. He wondered if this man was made to bow before Caesar, and he suspected not. Graham was an immeasurably strong force; stronger than him, even.

"Have him accompany you," the man suggested, "he is strong and capable of protecting you. He's also very willing to please."

His words stung, but Graham was right. Lanius needed an opportunity to get back in the Courier's good graces.

She appeared to dislike the idea at first, but slowly, her expression changed to acceptance.

"Fine," Six nodded, "you'll do, then."

She turned around and walked back toward her room. Calling over her shoulder, she gave him something to think about:

"Tomorrow, we're going to The Divide."


	8. Chapter 8

A/n: So, it's been a very long time since I updated last. This was from all the classwork I've had to do, so just to let everyone know that I'm ok.

* * *

Vulpes gently grabbed his arm and showed him how to look up destinations on the pip-boy. They had three locations in three separate places in the Big MT to find technologies; it was a toss-up decision of where to go. After all, the layout of the dome appeared to be circular, and each target area was an equal distance to the Think Tank.

"Let's go to the X-13 research facility," Vulpes shrugged, "it's the first on the list."

Crassius nodded; it sounded like a good plan to him. They rode an elevator down to the ground level of the facility and exited. Though this was supposedly a protected place, it looked like the apocalypse hit Big MT as well. The sky was dark and angry, and full of gray clouds that put a heavy filter over the sun. Small roads that led from the Think Tank were crumbled and ruined, like many roads in the Mojave. Pipes ran parallel to this road, their joints rusted and dripping. This had once been a successful, thriving area, and now, like many other places, it was a ruin. Crassius couldn't imagine what it used to look like. Glancing over at the awed look on Vulpes' face, he realized that he would have to keep the other man's curiosity in check. They were to get in, get the technologies, get the brains, and get out. He hoped he wouldn't have to fight Vulpes on this.

As soon as they stepped away from the building, there was a loud crackling noise as speakers activated.

"Intruders!" a voice announced, "You will not escape the eyes of my roboscorpions, or their pincers!"

Assuming this was the rival, and assuming that they could be heard, Crassius nodded in the direction they should go. They headed to the west, down a crumbling road toward the research station. They passed by another station that was labeled 'x-12', and the pip-boy lit up and marked the location on the map. It wasn't where they needed to go, however, and they left it alone.

Just past the research station, there was a set of stairs. The pip-boy on his arm clicked as it signaled radiation, and the pair darted out of the dangerous area as quickly as possible.

There was little warning before they were attacked by nightstalkers. The scuffle drew the attention of two nearby cyberdogs, who bounded in to defend their territory. As they dispatched the animals, gunshots rang out. Crassius ducked behind a nearby pipe and watched as Vulpes dove for cover soon after.

A figure stood on top of a hill, dirty and disheveled, his hair shaved, and growing back in stubble. His head bore the same marks as theirs; this was a lobotomite. Another lobotomite crested the hill, a blade in his hand. He ran down, even as the other shot toward their cover.

"We're one of you!" Vulpes called out, "We're trying to fix all of this!"

There was no reply other than gunshots, and as the lobotomite with the knife drew closer, a decision had to be made.

"Last warning!" Crassius shouted.

Vulpes shook his head, and when the lobotomite on the hill reloaded, he took his chance, stood, and shot him in the head. Crassius used the break in the fire to leap over the pipe and disarm the man with the knife. He held the man's arm in his hand, the scrawny, underfed lobotomite much too weak to fight back. Instead, he lurched forward, gnashing his teeth in an attempt to bite Crassius. The lobotomite was feral; there was no soul to his eyes.

Without hesitation, Crassius put him down with a quick snap to the neck.

"They're mad," he sighed, "I wonder if Marcus –"

Crassius couldn't complete his thought. If Marcus were indeed feral, would he be able to put him down as well?

"He will be just fine," Vulpes replied, as if reading his thoughts. "These ones are missing brain parts; there hasn't been an attempt to restore them. Keep in mind that mine was removed entirely, and I'm doing rather well."

He knew all of these things, but found it difficult to agree. What if Marcus couldn't be fixed?

Wordlessly, they continued on their way up the hill that the lobotomite used as his last stand. Crassius sent the man a quick glance, and cursed the fact that he had pity on these creatures. They hadn't pitied him; they felt nothing.

They passed a series of humming generators, following a long line of pipe toward a building in the distance. As they drew closer, a sign over the front door became visible. This was the X-13 facility that they needed to enter.

"This was rather close," Vulpes remarked, "perhaps, we will be back sooner than we anticipated."

Crassius nodded in agreement. The sooner they got this done, the sooner they could help Marcus.

They walked up a lit pathway, toward the entrance of the building. With a press of a button, the old door in front opened with a loud squeal of rusty parts.

The building was dimly lit, and the pair crept in, not knowing what waited inside. They reexamined the pip-boy, and noticed that it split up the locations of the tech by room.

"Should we split up?" Crassius asked.

Vulpes shook his head.

"We don't know what's going on in here," he remarked, "we will be safer together."

Crassius nodded in agreement. It was better to proceed with caution than to get eager and greedy, and be hurt or killed in the process.

They appeared to be in a reception area of sorts, with a desk and old papers scattered about the room. A film of dust lay everywhere; this place hadn't been touched in centuries. They crept past the desk, toward an open hallway with a room just ahead. There was a marker in that room, and Crassius moved forward to step out into the hallway after Vulpes' signal that it was clear.

On a table in the middle of the room in front of them lay a pair of gloves. Vulpes took them, and Crassius watched as the marker disappeared from the pip-boy. Looking at the other markers, they crept down the hallway and stopped in the rooms with markers, until there were no markers left, and they had a full suit of stealth armor. The task had been too easy, and Crassius was immediately suspicious.

They went through another door, toward a testing area. There was a large series of catwalks over what appeared to be a testing area, with a door and console at the end. Vulpes approached it and opened the door, even though Crassius had his suspicions that this wasn't the right area.

"Oh," Vulpes murmured, "what are you?"

Crassius darted into the room, his years of training telling him to protect at all cost. What he saw, however, wasn't what he expected.

Vulpes stood in the middle of the room, his figure bathed in a soft, purple light. He turned around, and in his hand was an axe the likes of which he had never seen before. It was black, with a glowing, purple blade; it appeared to be forged from the fires of the underworld. Fearing the unknown, Crassius backed away in caution.

"It's an energy weapon," Vulpes marveled. He held it in the air and gave it an experimental swing. Finding its balance to his liking, the Fox tested the blade on a nearby skeleton. The blade chopped through the femur precisely, and the scent of ashes drifted toward him. Vulpes turned his gaze toward him, and he backed up. Crassius didn't trust it.

"It's an energy weapon," Vulpes repeated, his voice insistent. "It has no sentience. It has no will."

He came forward with the glowing weapon and Crassius didn't move. If Vulpes said it was okay, then he supposed it couldn't harm them. Vulpes knew a lot about all sorts of things – sometimes useless things – so it had to be fine.

As Vulpes drew nearer, the axe cast its purple glow on the both of them. He held it out, and Crassius was hesitant to take it, but did so anyway. The axe was surprisingly light, but with enough weight to make it feel right.

"Looks wicked, doesn't it?" Vulpes marveled.

Crassius nodded. Now that he held it, it was growing on him. The black handle felt right in his hand, something rather rare for him because his hands were so large. It was then that he noticed the glowing white stones on the back of the blade; they looked like little horns. Knowing what he did about the old world, he knew that they served some purpose. The old world rarely ornamented their weapons.

"What are those?" he asked, motioning toward the stones.

Vulpes tilted his head and ran his thumb over one of them.

"Capacitors," he replied, "for helping power the weapon."

So, he probably didn't want to hit something with them. That was good to know, in case he wanted to keep it. He still wasn't sure about it, but at the same time, it was rather nice, in a 'fearful, axe of the underworld and bane of mortals' kind of way.

"You should keep it," Vulpes insisted, "it fits you nicely, and a good weapon is hard to come by."

"You don't want it?" Crassius asked. He found that hard to believe.

"You want it more," Vulpes chuckled, giving him a pat on the back.

Hell, he did.

Crassius tucked the handle of the axe into his belt and it powered down. He would give it a proper place when this was over. Following Vulpes, Crassius glanced down at his pip-boy. Now they were headed in the right direction. The pair walked through a door to a small room with a terminal. As Vulpes read the words on the screen, Crassius shook his head.

He had a pip-boy, and an energy axe. Marcus would be jealous, especially of the axe.

"The testing area is downstairs," Vulpes said, reading while speaking. "Only one person is allowed to test the suit at a time, and it will conform to their body."

"So, I'm guessing you're going to do the test?" Crassius asked.

"Unless you want to," Vulpes replied.

Crassius didn't think he had any business in a stealth suit, doing a stealth test, when the former head of the Frumentarii was with him. Shaking his head, Crassius watched as Vulpes shrugged and began to remove his clothes to put on the suit.

"So, I don't want to worry you," Vulpes announced, "but they removed my brain, spine, and heart. Medically speaking, I should be absolutely dead."

The bottom half of the suit was on and it fell down Vulpes' hips. Crassius wondered if he should have worn it instead, but then, it may not have fit him at all.

"Then why aren't you?" Crassius asked, "Not that I mind."

"No clue," he grunted, "I wonder if I'm me, sometimes."

That was a disturbing thought, but Crassius dismissed it.

"Your spirit is obviously here," he replied, catching Vulpes' eyes rolling as soon as the words left his mouth.

Crassius shrugged; Vulpes could believe as he wished, but he was certain that there was more to the world than the eyes could perceive. His only concern was the open disdain Vulpes had for those who believed otherwise, and wondered just what he would do if the Courier professed a belief in the afterlife or something of the sort.

The gloves went on last, and the suit activated. Within seconds, it shrank to accommodate Vulpes' smaller frame, fitting him perfectly.

"Hello," it greeted, "who may I hide you from today?"

Crassius quirked an eyebrow. It could talk?

This seemed to please Vulpes, and he turned to give him a quick nod.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said, before disappearing down a set of stairs.

* * *

This suit was the most comfortable thing he had ever worn, including his own skin. It was perfectly warm and perfectly cool at the same time, and there was a perfect amount of room for every inch of his body.

Vulpes walked down the stairs toward a terminal, ready to do this test and see what the suit could do.

"Starting combat," it announced.

He drew his ripper and prepared for a fight.

"Just kidding," the suit giggled.

Vulpes narrowed his eyes and put his weapon back.

"Are you an AI?" he asked, continuing down the stairs to stop at the terminal at the bottom.

"Couldn't say," the suit replied, "maybe you should wear some underwear, mister."

Vulpes chuckled and logged into the terminal. It – she? – would have to deal with it, if she even had an opinion about it.

"What makes you think I should?" he asked.

"Because it's normal," she groused.

"As you can tell," Vulpes quipped, "I'm very abnormal."

"I can tell," she replied, tightening in a suction around a very specific area.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he chuckled, "I'm a married man and my wife doesn't seem to be the sharing type."

There was no reply, and Vulpes wondered if the suit ran out of applicable dialog, or if she was an AI and embarrassed. Would an AI even know shame?

Shaking his head, he selected the basic infiltration test. The goals of the test came up on the screen, and he read them carefully. He was to infiltrate an office and steal a document, while remaining completely undetected. It sounded easy enough, but he wasn't sure what kind of old world security measures would be in place.

"I'll help you with this," the suit said, "it will be easy. None of those robots will see us."

Vulpes nodded and opened the door to the testing area. It appeared to have the basic layout of an office, and this was the reception area. To the right was a locked door.

He felt something strange on his wrist and looked down as a lock pick emerged from a small hole in the glove. The suit knew what he wanted to do.

The lock was easy to pick, and Vulpes had the door open quickly. To the left, a robobrain rolled down the hallway toward the bathroom. He took the opportunity to creep down the hallway, around the corner, and past another robobrain.

There was a heavy grade military door in front of him, and Vulpes assumed that the document must be behind it. This lock was much trickier, but it opened with a little bit of jiggling and coaxing. The door slid open to reveal a set of stairs. He tilted his head to the side and wound his way upstairs. When he reached the top, he realized that he was around the area where he got Crassius' axe. He was out of the testing area.

Sighing, Vulpes peered over the railings into the rooms below. He saw the reception room from the testing area, and an area that looked like an executive office. There was a wall safe on the far end of the room; this had to be the objective. Smirking, Vulpes examined the distance to the ground and determined that it would be safe.

He straddled the railing, swung his other leg over, and then slid down the empty wall to land safely on the floor. As he listened carefully to the sounds the safe lock made, the suit tightened around his shoulders in a massaging motion.

"Oh," she purred, "this definitely isn't your first time, you sneaky, sneaky man."

The safe popped open to reveal the documents he needed to steal.

"I'm a top agent," he replied, "you're working with the best."

As soon as Vulpes grabbed the documents, the suit felt even lighter, and it changed slightly in form.

"Suit updated to version 1.1," it chirped, "You can do more tests for more upgrades, if you wish."

If he could further improve this suit easily, it could very well be worth it. While Vulpes considered this, the speakers in the building crackled to life.

"Stealth suit has been upgraded?" Mobius shouted, "No, not even the stealth suit can save you from my roboscorpions!" Dr. Mobius laughed loudly, and then shut off communications.

The suit alerted to enemies outside the office door, and Vulpes cursed. He glanced to the right, and wondered if he could get enough momentum to climb out of office area. Vulpes ran toward the wall and got part of the way up, but there weren't enough holds. He slid down the wall, just missing grabbing the railing.

With the scratching noises outside, Vulpes knew that he was out of time. He drew his pistol and gently opened the door to the office.

A pair of scorpions faced the door and attacked on sight. Dr. Mobius' voice drifted out from speakers on their bodies, taunting him as they shot at him with their laser tails. It took more than one shot from his .44 to down one of them. As soon as it was defeated, it began to spark. Vulpes backed up just in time for the scorpion to explode.

The second one wasted no time in skittering toward him, as a third one rounded the corner further down the hallway. Vulpes focused on the one closer to him and shot it; its armor was quite tough.

"Need a little help?" Crassius called.

He emerged from around the corner with the axe and jumped on top of the scorpion in the back. The axe sliced through its tail, severing it with one stroke. Crassius kicked it away and let it explode behind him.

It took one more shot from Vulpes' revolver for the final scorpion to die. Sparks shot out of its body as it exploded in a shower of parts. As Crassius approached him, Vulpes took the time to reload.

"So, how much hearing loss do you have from using that gun?" Crassius asked.

"What did you say?" Vulpes chuckled. His ears were ringing from using the gun indoors, but he heard him well enough. The .44 was a man's gun, and he wouldn't give up using it to the day he died.

They walked back down the hall to the testing terminal. The bodies of roboscorpions littered the pathway, and Vulpes wondered how many Crassius had taken out.

"If we fully upgrade this suit," he mused, "Six will have an excellent tool."

And Vulpes would have an excellent toy. He liked it, to a certain extent. Of course, it had its flaws; he was certain that it wasn't very physically resistant, like many other stealth-oriented suits. Puncture wounds would be a hazard.

"Good plan," Crassius nodded, "I'll watch to make sure no more scorpions come in."

Vulpes turned around and accessed the terminal for the second test. He read the quick brief about it, and it seemed to be the same thing, but with laser tripwires.

He opened the door to the testing area, and looked around. The laser tripwires were bright red, their location very obvious. They had to work like regular tripwires. Shrugging, Vulpes hopped onto the reception desk and slipped past the tripwires. He opened the door to the hallway, taking the same path he took before, carefully stepping over the new, unchallenging obstacles. The door from earlier was locked again, and he quickly picked it and jogged up the stairs.

With a quick vault over the railing, Vulpes was down into the office and cracking open the safe. The suit upgraded again as soon as he grabbed the documents.

"Do it again," the suit giggled, "do it faster this time."

He chuckled and made his way back to the terminal. Booting up the menu, Vulpes selected the advanced test, which included proximity mines. As he entered the reception area, Crassius called after him.

"What were you doing upstairs?" he laughed, "Were you cheating?"

Vulpes peeked back into the room in which the Praetorian waited.

"No," he replied, his eyes narrowed in mock indignation.

As Crassius laughed at him, he ducked into the reception area. The proximity mines weren't much of a challenge, and Vulpes soon found himself picking open the safe again.

"So fast and quiet," the suit observed, "you and I are going to be good friends."

Vulpes grabbed the documents out of the safe, and the suit upgraded to its full potential.

"We will be very good friends," he replied.

The suit rippled up his back in a massaging motion, and Vulpes could tell where this was headed.

"These marks on your back," she asked, "Do they hurt you?"

"Don't worry about it," Vulpes sighed. He wasn't going to talk to a damned stealth suit about being flogged and why he was flogged, especially the second time.

As if looking for a subject change, the suit cleared her throat.

"You know," she said, "You can get your reward from the reward safe. It's upstairs."

He nodded; he had forgotten about that. Vulpes wound his way back around to the testing terminal and the nearby safe. Crassius waited patiently by the stairs.

Vulpes opened the reward safe and a large handful of packages fell out. He read the label and tilted his head in confusion. What was a condom?

As he turned the box over to view the diagrams on the back, the answer became perfectly clear. He was intrigued, and a bit shocked that the Old World prudes would illustrate an erect penis on the back of a box for a product. They normally kept things of that manner extremely private.

"Be careful with those," the suit warned, "they're really old so they could break, and that would mean babies for you. Besides, they might not be big enough for your – endowments."

Vulpes let out a snort. They probably weren't big enough.

"What's that?" Crassius asked.

The praetorian walked over to him, and Vulpes handed him a box. Vulpes watched his face as he turned it over and the realization dawned on him. Reactions were always fascinating to see.

He found himself a little bit disappointed as Crassius shrugged and nodded.

"That's clever," he noted, "but if you haven't gotten your wife pregnant by now, I have my doubts that you'd need them."

That was rather blunt.

"Yes Man gave us something that prevents pregnancy," Vulpes offered, "he said that it wasn't in our best interests to have a child yet."

Crassius tilted his head to the side.

"Sounds like that thing you and Caesar talked about," he frowned, "Eugenics? Can that robot tell you to reproduce when it wants you to? And what do you say to it?"

Vulpes blinked in confusion.

"What, you just thought I stood there?" Crassius chuckled, "I listened to every word. I don't think I'm very smart, but I want to know what's going on in my world."

They walked up the stairs together to leave the building.

"If you understood that," Vulpes smiled, "then you should read more. We need more people who understand complex ideas in the world."

"Do we?" Crassius quipped, "The Old World was full of people who understood complex ideas, but they forgot the simple ones. They forgot tradition, family, and honor in favor of technology. In the process, they lost their humanity. Look at what it did to the Think Tank."

"I don't think searching for knowledge is wrong," Vulpes replied, "without knowledge, there is no advancement, no bettering of humanity. Case and point: New Vegas as it is now."

The x-13 laboratory doors opened to the Big MT. Roboscorpions awaited their arrival, their speakers blaring threats as they skittered forward. Sighing, Vulpes drew his revolver. They would have to continue their debate later if he could catch the praetorian in another talkative mood.

It was a slaughter. In between dodging the scorpions' laser tails, they were able to use the machines' self-destruct death sequence against them. As the last scorpion exploded, they began to follow the path back to the Sink.

They walked in silence for a while, until the sun began to sink over the horizon. The Think Tank was still quite a distance away.

"Time to camp," Vulpes sighed, "I don't want to know how dangerous this place is at night."

Crassius nodded in agreement, and they split up to find a good area to spend the night. Vulpes peered around rocks, trying to find a small place that was sheltered where they could try to build a fire. As he searched, he picked up anything he could use as tinder. This was a scientific research zone that hadn't been touched in years; it wasn't as if a traveler would have set up a fire pit somewhere nearby.

Vulpes heard his name being called, and followed the sound of Crassius' voice. When he found the praetorian, he was pleased to find a small, concrete ledge that was broken off from a nearby overpass. They gathered what sticks and branches they could before building a fire pit.

"How did you know what kind of care Marcus needed?" Crassius asked.

"Caesar was sick," Vulpes murmured, "very sick. I researched neurology and the care of those who cannot care for themselves."

The praetorian quietly nodded. He had to have known that Caesar was ill; he spent more time around him that even Vulpes.

Crassius sent him a quick glance, and Vulpes immediately understood the look. He was worried about Marcus, and no amount of consoling would help until he was whole again.

* * *

Lanius kept his eyes on the horizon, searching for any signs of trouble. He had more than just himself to look out for, and much more to prove. The day had been uneventful; there were a small handful of scorpions earlier that the Courier shot all to hell before he could get them with his sword. The woman was a very good shot, and could possibly rival her husband in marksmanship. He scanned the hills again, and paused when something moved much further away.

Out in the desert, a black speck moved. As it drew closer, Lanius saw a man in worn, leather armor. He was waving his arms and shouting, and by the time he reached them, he was out of breath. Before the Butcher could draw his sword, Six held her hand up to tell him to wait. Lanius wasn't a waiter, but he would do it if she requested it.

The man hunched over in front of them and gasped, his hands on his knees.

"Did you see that?!" He shouted, "Crazy bitch almost killed me!"

Lanius glanced around and saw nobody. This man clearly had been out in the desert too long.

"Yeah, what was that all about?" Six asked.

Frowning, the Butcher peered out at the desert. A long distance from them, a shape that could have been a corpse lay. How in the hell had the Courier seen this happen?

"She wanted my lucky star bottle cap necklace," he grumbled, "that's what it had to have been."

"What's your name?" Six asked. She tilted her head to the side, her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

"Thomas," he replied, "you?"

"I'm Six!" she beamed, "I didn't know there was someone collecting those caps." She leaned over to shake his hand and Lanius frowned. She was much too friendly with a stranger. He shifted his sword on his back to make sure it was ready, just in case.

"So, you've been collecting them?" Thomas asked.

"Heck yes!" Six beamed, "I've got, like, forty."

The man swore and shook his head in awe.

"Do you want mine?" he asked.

Her eyes widened as she nodded quickly. Thomas untied the leather string from his neck and handed the necklace over to the Courier.

"Here ya go!" he laughed, "Goodbye, friends!" With a wave, he was off and running, disappearing in the same manner in which he appeared. The Courier smiled and waved after him, as if this man was suddenly her friend.

As soon as he was gone, Six turned around and began to walk down the road once more.

"Well, that was nice," she smiled, as if the visit had been a long time in coming.

"Does Vulpes know you're collecting these?" Lanius frowned. More importantly, did he know that his wife was somewhat insane?

Six nodded.

"He allows this?"

The Courier turned her nose in the air and started off down the road.

"I allow him to watch me," she quipped.

It wasn't much of a quip. The girl seemed somewhat dumb. What in the hell did Vulpes see in this woman?

Six took off ahead of him; he couldn't help but sneak a glance at her ass, and supposed that was part of it. He took too long to follow. Sensing this, she turned around to give him a radiant smile, and told him not be such a grumpy-pants.

Shaking his head, Lanius followed. Her heart was much bigger than her mind.

They continued for a while in silence, and the sun began to sink into the horizon. While they weren't in a complete survival situation, they still needed to set up a camp and sleep that night. The Courier, however, didn't seem to have any inclination of slowing down. Traveling to the point of exhaustion was incredibly unwise.

"We should begin thinking about camp," Lanius offered, "the sun is setting."

Six turned to look at the sky and her eyes opened in shock, as if she hadn't noticed the time of day.

"You think?" she asked.

Lanius grunted in acknowledgment. That was exactly what he thought. As he began to look for areas closer to the highway to set up camp, Six began to ask more questions.

"So, you know English, Latin, and Hidebark," the Courier said.

Hidebark wasn't the language of his people, but Lanius wouldn't correct her.

"Which one do you think in?" she asked. Six pranced out in front of him to walk backward and stare up at him.

"It depends on which one I was most recently speaking," he replied. So he never thought in the language of his people. Vulpes was the only other former tribal he knew, and he did not want to bring back old memories.

"Which one do you dream in?" she continued, her eyes wide.

Lanius closed his eyes and tried to think.

"All three," he grunted, "which word my mind uses depends on which has the most proper meaning."

The Courier's face took on a harsh look and she stared up at him defiantly.

"So, what's the word you would say for your past relationship with my husband?" she asked.

He didn't want to answer it, but he didn't want to anger her further.

"Blumore," he concluded.

"And what's that mean?" Six asked.

Oh.

Of course, she would ask.

"Lover," he admitted.

She was obviously unimpressed.

"It's also the word for incest," Lanius added.

As the Courier lifted an eyebrow, he wondered if he should elaborate, but he thought better of it. He didn't want to talk about his feelings, especially for the terrible things he did.

"So, wrong then," she stated.

Yes. Terrible, wrong, a crime against nature and humanity.

Lanius said nothing. He would let her think about it. Instead, he watched her fumble around with trying to set up camp. With a sigh, Lanius realized that he would have to give this woman some instruction about what made a good camp, and certain things that had to be done. Didn't Vulpes teach her anything?

"This place is out in the open," he grumbled, "we are exposed to the elements, bandits, and predators."

Her mouth opened in a small 'o' as it dawned on the Courier that this was not a good place for camp.

"What do we need?" she asked.

"At least a big rock or something," he sighed. Any idiot would know this.

Six began to point places out as they passed them, each place a bad choice. It wasn't until the seventh try that the Courier found a decent spot for their camp. When he nodded at her choice, she was elated.

Before the sun set, they would have to gather materials for a fire. The Courier followed him around, grabbing plants – most more useless than not – that she hoped they could burn. It was going to be a long trip with this woman.

* * *

She turned the screwdriver – lefty, loosey – and the screw slowly came out of its hole. It was such a tiny, itty-bitty screw that could get lost easily. When it fell out of the hole, Veronica caught it and put it on a small patch of duct tape with the other little screws from her most recent undertaking. The screws didn't have an order, per se, but she would figure out which one went where later. Her lack of organization would irritate her roommate, who would have to save her from herself and help her reassemble what she disassembled.

"I'm going to bed," Arcade announced.

Veronica looked up from her project and looked at her friend in confusion. Glancing over at the clock told her that it was too early to go to bed.

"It's eight!" she protested.

The doctor shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.

"It's been a long day," he remarked, exiting the kitchen to go to his room.

Veronica sighed and shook her head. It had been a long day of nothing; there was no reason to go to bed so early. But Arcade had taken to sleeping at odd times and for an odd number of hours. It wasn't healthy, and it made her wonder if something was bothering the guy.

Figuring she couldn't come up with an explanation on her own, Veronica began to tidy up the kitchen table so it was somewhat organized.

They had a modest suite, with a small kitchen area; it was still quite a luxury as far as a hotel room was concerned. But the kitchen was never truly used as a kitchen. It became their work area, where Veronica and Arcade would collaborate on different things. He was never much of a mechanic, but Arcade more than made up for it with his intuition. Their suite was their little corner of geekdom, a place where few of the other Lucky 38 residents bothered to visit. The Presidential suite, after all, was the socializing hub.

Things were strange with just her, Arcade, and Graham around. With the Legionaries and Six gone, it was very quiet. Though Veronica missed her friends, it was nice having the hallways quiet at night. She always figured that when the Courier discovered sex, there would be no stopping her. Veronica was thankful, however, that Six was with someone who wouldn't take advantage of her.

She snorted in laughter as she realized that she trusted an ex-Legionary with her friend more than a New Vegas gambler. My, how the times changed. Veronica still maintained her opinion about the Legion, though.

She walked down the dusty, old hotel hallway toward the elevator, dust balls drifting through the air behind her. The Lucky 38 needed to be aired out, if they could find a way to do it. Or, it at least vacuumed from ceiling to floor. Maybe, since everyone was gone, she would get on that and surprise them when they came back. Securitrons could help.

Veronica pushed the button to the elevator, stepped inside, and then pressed the rear door button. With the key to the Presidential suite already in its place, the door opened immediately. Graham was where he always was; he sat at the kitchen table, reading his Bible. Veronica wondered if he had every word memorized. He looked up when she entered, his gaze reminding her of Scribe Taggart catching her whispering during class. There were reminders of home in strange places.

Shaking her head, Veronica sat down across from the Burned Man.

"Arcade went to bed," she stated.

"It's barely eight," Graham frowned, "that's too early."

"Do you think?" Veronica began, unable to find the right words.

Graham shrugged and put his book aside.

"He's lonely," he concluded, "or at least seems to be."

Veronica sighed and shook her head. So it wasn't just she who caught it.

"That's what I thought," she replied. For some people, it was tough to watch their friends all pair off and get married. It was difficult to watch people in love when you wanted to be with someone too. After she and Christine went their own ways, it had taken Veronica a very long time to be comfortable by herself. Even then, she still longed for a significant other every now and again.

So, their friend was lonely. If she could find someone to set him up with, maybe he could be happy. But what kind of guy would Arcade need?

For starters, he had to be mature. Arcade wouldn't respect a man that still had some partying to go through. At the same time, this guy had to strong – stronger than Arcade, and had to lay down the law when Arcade went on one of his panic tangents. And of course, he had to be good looking because her friend deserved a hottie.

"I don't know what you're thinking," Graham interjected, "but the smile on your face suggests mischief. Arcade doesn't need mischief."

"What if Lanius –"

"Absolutely not," the Burned Man interrupted, "he needs to be happy as a complete human being on his own. Having a significant other doesn't complete someone."

Veronica huffed and reluctantly agreed. Still, she figured that it certainly couldn't hurt to set him up with someone.

She would have to figure out a way to get this going.

* * *

Radroach meat was the meat of desperation. It meant that you couldn't afford regular meat, and you couldn't find something better to kill. It meant that you were barely surviving, and that you were feeding off the bottom of the chain. It meant hard times.

There wasn't much meat on this one, a fact that became all the more apparent when he chopped into its legs with his blade. The oily smell of filth drifted to his nostrils and Vulpes' stomach soured. He didn't want to know where it had been.

Detritivores carried a host of diseases and filth; they had to cook this one until the meat was barely chewable.

"Fun fact," Vulpes nodded, "Radroaches used to be called cockroaches."

Crassius stared at the dead insect and blinked.

"Since Marcus isn't here," he chuckled, "I'll ask. Cock? Where did that come from?"

Vulpes shrugged.

"Not that kind of cock," he replied, "but I'm not sure what kind of cock it really is. It certainly isn't named after the genitals it doesn't have."

His stomach growled loudly, and he realized that he was actually hungry for the damn thing.

In no time, they had the roach gutted, quartered, and roasting over their campfire. It would take a long time for it to cook, unfortunately. He sat back against the cement underpass, watching the radroach slowly sizzle over the fire.

"Are you," Vulpes hesitated, not sure if it was the correct word. "Are you married?"

"I suppose so," Crassius mused.

"How long?" Vulpes asked.

Crassius paused in thought.

"A few years, at least," he replied.

"Did it ever feel strange?" Vulpes asked.

Crassius chuckled and leaned back against the wall with him.

"There were times when I questioned if he was the right one," he sighed, "but even as he is now, I find that the answer is always yes. It always takes work, always takes patience and understanding."

With a goof like Marcus, Vulpes figured Crassius would need patience – lots of patience. There was always a goofy half to each couple. He thought about Six, and her complete jealousy and no-nonsense approach to her authority. Did that mean he was the goofy one?

Certainly not. Vulpes was never silly.

"Some days," Crassius continued, "you're going to be frustrated out of your wits. You're going to want to walk out. But you don't, because you made a promise. And when the one you love comes around, or when you realize you were wrong, you find yourself glad that you never left. I think that's what love is. It's something deeper than passion or attraction. It's your life and their life, so entwined that you cannot separate without tearing yourself in half."

Vulpes nodded slowly. He never got that frustrated with Six, but he felt the last part. Vulpes could never separate from Six, and the day it happened was the day he died.

The stared at the fire in silence, the smell of sizzling radroach meat filling the air. Perhaps, they could pick up where they left off with their debate about knowledge. Vulpes opened his mouth to speak, but Crassius chose that moment to talk.

"Tell me what happened with the Red Masks," he said.

Vulpes frowned. This was something he never discussed, ever. He shook his head in protest.

"You got them to join the Legion and give up their identity," Crassius insisted, "the only tribe that ever did this. It's nearly legend among the Legion."

Sighing, Vulpes saw no way around it. So, he would tell Crassius what he told Caesar.

"I was invited to spend time with them," he recalled, "and after dinner, they passed a pipe around. I thought it was just tobacco; I wasn't fully trained by then, but Caesar trusted me to have good instincts. In this, I failed. It turned out to be peyote."

The Praetorian burst out in laughter and shook his head.

"Then what?" he asked.

"I don't remember what happened after that," Vulpes lied.

They each took their turns with him, and he loved every second of it. Every inch of his body was worshiped, and when he came to in the morning, he was covered head to toe in bruises and bite marks, and sore all over.

"So, it was just luck?" Crassius chuckled, "You can't be serious."

Vulpes nodded. It was part luck, and all getting in way over his head. He had a knack for getting in trouble if it involved sex. Thankfully, he was an excellent liar. He was so good, in fact, that Caesar bought his lie that he blacked out, and didn't say much other than to be careful and to keep his mistake a secret. He was still promoted afterward. Caesar figured that if he could convince a tribe to join the Legion while blackout intoxicated, then he could accomplish that much more when in control of his actions.

Though Vulpes always wondered if he was in control when they had their way with him, or if it was the peyote. Or, did the peyote bring out something that he buried?

He ignored those thoughts and leaned forward to check the radroach. It wasn't much to preoccupy his thoughts, but it was something. He was homesick, and thinking too much.


	9. Chapter 9

A/n: I hope everyone has had safe and happy holidays so far! I've had an insanely busy winter break, so I want you all to know that I should be updating more when the next semester roll around.

* * *

He dreamed of a time long gone, a time where he had yet to know Marcus as the man he loved. Back then, Caesar's praetorians were less one member. There was a contest to decide who would be the next guard. Little did the two combatants know that they were both soon to become praetorians.

Crassius dreamed of sweat, of blood pouring down his arms as he tore himself out of a vicious grapple. He and Marcus fought until they were both barely standing; they were so evenly matched, that Caesar put a stop to the fight before they both died.

From the time they removed their masks and stared each other in the eye, they were bitter rivals. They sparred often, and Lucius had to break up their fights on many occasions. They were intentionally kept on different posts, so they wouldn't be in the same room at the same time.

Eventually, Marcus caught him alone one day, intentionally seeking him out to kill him as he trained out in the desert. Already weakened from his training, he was no match for his rival. But it was no matter; their fight that day dissolved into something different – something so horrifyingly illegal that they avoided each other for a long time.

He became both obsessed with and terrified of his rival during that time, until the posts were reassigned and he was forced to face Marcus every day. Crassius was much taller then, and knew without a doubt that he could take Marcus easily. He remembered watching Marcus, the other man staring after Fox, making him jealous. Marcus refused to look at him, and when he finally did, it was in passing to hiss that it was Crassius' fault.

It took courage to confront Marcus, but when he did, the outcome was the same as it had been before. This time, however, it was because he chose to lose. Their fling went off and on as they grew out of teenhood, and eventually, they were man enough to talk about what was going on. There was closeness, fondness, even attachment involved, and they had to figure it out before they were discovered.

They determined, however, that whatever was going on between them could never take precedence over their duty to Caesar. And it never did, and Crassius figured they deserved happiness together where Marcus was his priority, and he was Marcus'.

Crassius slowly came to, thinking of these things. There was a warm body next to him – tall, and much too bony to be Marcus. He smelled of leather, and of dissolute cologne. Who was this man?

Crassius opened his eyes to see Vulpes asleep next to him. The guard moved ever so slightly, and the other man's eyes shot open.

He backed away to give Vulpes room to sit up and stretch. Stoking the fire, Crassius began to warm up the remaining radroach meat.

"I told you I'd watch out for you," the stealth suit announced, "and look at how you were able to sleep through the night without taking watch."

Vulpes asked the suit again if it was an AI or not, and it chastised him for being nosy. Sighing, he moved closer to Crassius and asked to see the pip-boy. Offering his arm, Crassius continued to eat his breakfast.

"I figure we might as well get that antenna," he remarked, "since its morning, we have supplies, and the Think Tank is out of the way."

Crassius nodded in agreement. They ate quickly, smothered the ashes of the fire, and went on their way. Their path took them around a large building, through more rubble from the Old World. They squeezed between two buildings, the pip-boy ticking ominously.

In front of them, just beyond the buildings, a person in a red suit stood. Crassius immediately assumed that it would be hostile, and crept forward to take care of it quietly with his axe. When he was within three feet, the person sensed him and turned.

He was face to face with a skeleton. In a panic, Crassius threw it off him and embedded his axe in its skull.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Vulpes called.

"I have," he replied, kicking the body toward his companion.

Vulpes peered down at the person-who-once-was and grimaced.

"Must have died in the suit," he noted, "and the suit continued going, even when the user expired."

Crassius sighed and looked at the suit in pity. The dead were meant to rest. In putting it down, he was certain that he did a good thing.

They left it behind to continue onward. Passing by a building, they saw a sign with the words 'x-43 innovative toxins plant' on it. Crassius exchanged a quick look with Vulpes, and it was all they needed to agree that they would never step foot inside that building.

Continuing down their path, they passed other old, small buildings, until coming across another research facility. The map said that they were close, so Crassius figured their destination to be the building with the large dish and needle on top.

"That's the array," Vulpes confirmed.

They kept going; passing heavy anti-aircraft guns with lobotomites camped out in their shadow. Like the others, these lobotomites knew nothing of tactics, and were easily taken out. Within minutes, they stood in front of the door to the x-2 transmitter array. On the door, an old commonwealth flag was painted in red, in jarring contrast to the surrounding area.

"What do you think it means?" Crassius asked.

"Looks recent," Vulpes shrugged, "maybe from someone who admired those people. Regardless, they're probably long gone."

With a nod, Crassius opened the door to the array. They were greeted by a pair of protectrons that never stood a chance. Other than the robots, the room appeared to be empty. As Crassius stepped over one of the dead protectrons, he watched Vulpes rummage around for things that could be useful.

He was quick and methodical, opening drawers and assessing the contents within a second. Many drawers, lockers, toolboxes, and cabinets were opened and shut instantly. If there was so much junk, why did Vulpes bother to scratch around for things?

As soon as he thought that, Vulpes found something worthwhile – at least, to him. Crassius didn't see much use in a holotape, but knew that Vulpes would insist that it was part of history and very important. With a nod, Vulpes signaled that he was done.

Together, they climbed stairs to the next floor, where Vulpes repeated the process. There was nothing of use there, and another nod signaled that they continue their upward climb.

The next floor was dark, and it gave them the advantage of sneaking up on a protectron. Crassius watched Vulpes sneak up behind it, rip out a handful of wires, and dump it over the edge of the railing. He then waited as Vulpes began his search again.

Seeing as there were many desks there, Crassius leaned back against the wall closest to the ladder they needed to take. He heard the distinct jingling of bottlecaps and a muted 'aha!' With his search complete, Vulpes made his way back to Crassius.

"Found some ammo for my revolver," he smiled, "it's usually so expensive and rare."

But was expense ever a problem for Vulpes? He had the treasury of the free Mojave at his disposal, and before that, had the entire treasury of the Legion if he wanted it.

Shaking his head, Crassius followed him up the ladder and back out into the sun. Poking his head up past the doorframe, he saw that they were on top of the dish. It was old, the welded panels rusting and coming off in places.

He watched Vulpes look at one of the holes in the dish.

"This is why we can't leave," Vulpes remarked, before stepping out onto the air.

His eyes widened as the air caught him. Beneath Vulpes' feet was some sort of blue light, holding him up.

"Don't scare me like that," Crassius grumbled.

"It's a demonstration of why we can't leave," Vulpes insisted, "This force field keeps us here. You can stand on it too; it's perfectly safe."

He declined in favor of examining the best way to get up to the antenna.

"I can go up there," Vulpes offered, "I'm lighter, and I may know how to disassemble it."

This suited Crassius just fine, who watched as Vulpes made his way up. With a bit of wiggling and rearranging, the antenna came loose from the array. There was a loud screech as Bit MT's underused intercom came to life once again.

"Trying to steal the array antenna, are you?" Mobius growled, "Well, you won't get very far, not if my roboscorpions have anything to say in the matter!"

As the scorpions skittered around and entered the array tower, Vulpes nimbly climbed down from the top of the array. They arranged the antenna securely on Vulpes' back, then opened the tower hatch.

Roboscorpions awaited them, and Crassius slid down the ladder to deal with them. When it was clear, he called to Vulpes, who hugged the ladder closely to fit down the small hatch. There was an exit on the top level, and they opted to take that one instead. It lead to a large metal walkway and passed by the anti-aircraft guns. There were more roboscorpions waiting for them.

"Intruders!" Mobius warned, "Return what you have stolen to x-2!"

"The lobotomites have recovered, two," Klein shouted, "count them, two of the three technologies!"

Crassius axed a scorpion's tail off then finished it with a blow to the head. It seemed that the Think Tank was very pleased with their progress.

"Let's head back there," Vulpes suggested, "and let them have this array so we don't have to carry it around."

Crassius nodded in agreement, and they made their way back to the Think Tank. They continued on in silence, and the Praetorian watched as Vulpes shifted the antenna on his back with every few steps. It must be heavier than it looked.

He was about to offer to help carry it, and thought better of it as the Sink came into view. Together, they entered the building and rode the elevator up to the Sink.

"They might have the schematics from the pip-boy," Vulpes said, "but if we want to get in good, we should talk with them. They might have some important information we can use."

He agreed silently and watched as Vulpes changed out of the stealth suit into his normal clothes.

"Anything that might seem like a small thing could be very important," Vulpes insisted. "Remember everything they say."

Crassius agreed, but wasn't sure if he would figure out anything useful. Still, it couldn't hurt to try.

* * *

It wasn't difficult to conclude one thing:

This was an awful place.

The wind was strong here, and the pathway was littered with debris. By those things alone, Six knew that they had to be close to the Divide. She did not fear the wind, nor did she fear the radiation; rather, she had more concern that she was alone with a man who didn't appear to like her. But, in all honesty, she probably disliked him more than he disliked her.

Six sighed as she looked out at the road that wound through this area. There was nothing she could do about it; Lanius was with her on this journey.

Six was jealous, she realized. She was jealous that this man – this incredibly handsome man – had his hands on her man, had been inside him, and gave him the same feelings that Vulpes gave her when they made love. And she could never touch Vulpes in that exact same way.

"You do not like me," Lanius observed.

Six stopped and ground her heel into the worn earth, staring out at the Divide.

"No," she admitted, "you took him from me."

A breeze blew across the dusty ground, stirring up clouds of dirt. Her hair obscured her vision for a moment, and the Courier turned around to face him.

Lanius stood in thought, his aqua eyes focusing on the horizon. To say he was imposing was an understatement; he was the biggest person she had ever seen, a wall of muscle. He tucked a strand of silver behind his ear and looked down at her.

"You took him from me," he whispered.

Six nodded, realizing that they wouldn't see eye to eye on this.

"And despite the threat I pose," Lanius continued, "you've let me into your little world. Interesting."

"You don't threaten me," Six declared. She stared up at the giant in defiance.

"Feisty thing," he chuckled.

To their right was a large door, and no way down. It had to be the way they were supposed to go.

"Let's get over to this bunker."

She approached the door, pressed the button on the side to open it, and stepped across the threshold when it lowered. Inside was a passageway littered with debris. As she made her way to the next door, wires dangling from the ceiling sparked, casting eerie shadows on the messages telling her she can go home that were painted on the walls.

Six reached the next door and opened it with a sigh. It was too late to go home.

The next room had a terminal in the center. Six approached it, hoping she could open it somehow. It was unlike any terminal she had ever seen, and she quickly realized that she wouldn't be able to open it at all.

"Can you try it?" she asked, turning to her companion.

Lanius shrugged and kicked the console. The metal panel on the side dented, but the console did nothing.

"That's my only idea."

"That was my next idea," she grumbled. Vulpes would have known what to do. Then again, they would have ended up having sex on top of the console, then hack into it when they were bored with that position.

It was no matter; Vulpes wasn't there, and the metal shutter in front of them remained closed. Six sensed something in that room beyond the shutter. Perhaps it was the mysterious man that called her out to the middle of nowhere.

"I know you're in there," she announced, "I don't know who you are, and what you want with me. But who I am now is too important for me to go alone, so you're going to have to deal with that. If you open this door, we can, you know, talk."

There was no reply.

"Gotta be NCR," she groused, "it's always the long, obnoxiously drawn out way with those people."

Lanius chuckled behind her.

"What if he's not in there?"

"Then it's not like he can hear me," she replied, "and it's not like he knows I was talking to an empty room. But there is something in there."

Six opened the door on the right to maintenance, figuring there had to be a key or code of some sort in there. She walked down the hall and around the corner, ending up in a room with more consoles and controls. To the left was a fogged up, scratched window; she couldn't see exactly what was in the locked silo from there, but she did see moving shadows.

"If he's in there, then I'mma get him," she grumbled. The guy made her walk out into the ass end of nowhere for no reason.

There was a terminal at the top of a set of short stairs. To the right of the terminal appeared to be some sort of pods, and one of them had a familiar-looking robot in it. She didn't think it would hurt her, and didn't know why.

Pondering this familiarity, Six approached the terminal and let the bot out of stasis. As the pod hissed and let off a gas, Lanius drew his sword. The Courier stopped him with a quick motion of her hand; she had a feeling this robot wouldn't hurt them.

Her feeling was correct. It turned to look at her, hovering just above her head.

"Hello little guy!" Six greeted.

It played a sound clip for her, the spines on its back waving languidly in the air.

"What was that sound clip?"

It beeped, as if unwilling to answer.

"Oh, well if you don't want to tell me, that's ok."

Behind her, Lanius shifted in suspicion. She hoped that his typical Legion distrust of technology wouldn't get in the way of letting this robot tag along. They would be hopeless if they had to use a terminal for anything.

"Do you think you can help us get out of here?" Six asked.

It played an old log, of a man named Dr. Whitley describing the functions of this machine. It was an eyebot.

"He called you Ed-E, right? Is that your name?"

The eyebot beeped and bobbed up and down in confirmation. As the log continued, she heard more about the eyebot's capabilities, including overriding electronic security.

"Sounds like you can hack terminals," Six suggested, "want to try?"

It beeped in reply and hovered out of the room toward the locked console. With a series of sparks, the terminal was opened quickly. The shutter to the silo in front of them opened to reveal a missile, more eyebots, and no sign of the stranger that created the signal. Ed-E turned to look at her, his spines clacking together in glee.

"You should be proud!" she smiled, "that was a really good job."

"How do you know what that thing is saying?" Lanius grumbled.

They continued onward, the eyebot hovering just next to Six.

"Dunno," she shrugged, "the beeps have certain tones to them, you know? Like when he was talking about the sound clips, he was so sad."

"It's a machine," he sighed.

Six wasn't going to argue with him; after all, he never had a long conversation with Yes Man before. He wouldn't understand how robots were just like people, in some ways. But Six understood.

They walked down the hallway, then out into the main silo. Eyebots hovered around the rocket, doing repairs. Six began to take the long spiral stairs up the side of the silo. Behind her, Lanius went slowly, gripping the rail tightly. He looked pale.

"You okay?" she asked.

He managed to mumble that he was fine, and appeared to be just fine after they reached the top of the stairs. Putting the thought out of her mind, Six led them around the silo area until they reached a door with a sign next to it. This was the operations office, so it had to be in the right direction. Six opened the door to see a sentry bot in front of them, its back turned. She watched as Lanius crept up behind it – much stealthier than she expected – and ripped out the main wires on its spine. The bot collapsed in a heap almost instantly.

The only way to go here was in through another door, and up a set of stairs to storage. This building was confusing in how it was laid out, but Six had the suspicion that this was to make sure that intruders would have trouble getting around.

They crested the top of the stairs to come face to face with the smell of death. In front of them, pinned to the far wall, was a dead Legionary, his skin raw and missing in places.

"What do you think did it?" she whispered, keeping a respectful distance from the dead man.

"Divide storms," Lanius suggested, "the wind and sand can tear the skin off."

Six cringed and continued on her way to the next room, up a set of stairs, and down another hallway. They walked into maintenance and encountered more dead Legionaries, as well as dead sentry bots, the positions they died in telling a tale of their last struggle.

In front of them was a switch that would hopefully open the way out of the bunker. Next to her, Ed-E beeped, letting her know that they needed security codes to use the switch. There was a security door in this room as well, and it didn't take someone smart to know that she needed to get security codes from inside that room.

It led to an upper level of the silo, then around to a large room with desks. Six paused in wonder at the Old World governmental seal on the floor. Though the paint was flaking and it was much less vibrant than it would have been a long time ago, it was still fascinating. As Six tried to read the words on the seal, she realized that it was from a different language. Some of the words did have familiar endings, however.

"That's Latin," Six murmured, "What's it mean?"

"I can't read Latin," Lanius groused.

Six nodded slowly and didn't say anything more. She figured that reading Latin would be similar to reading English, but she was kind of putting him on the spot and that wasn't really fair when he just learned to read recently.

Sighing, she walked over to a desk in the corner, feeling bad that she was walking over the art on the floor. When she reached the desk, she saw the body of a dead ghoul in the chair. His clothes looked similar to NCR, but different. As she read the labels on the coat, Six realized that this wasn't just a guy. This was an Old World general that survived the war and the centuries afterward, only to die of mysterious causes.

"His coat is so cool," she marveled. The pins were so shiny and colorful, as were the golden stars on the shoulders. She should have a coat like this, being the president – sort of – of New Vegas.

"So take it," Lanius shrugged.

Six turned around to look at him.

"That's gross."

"Where did you get those pants, then?"

Six looked back at the coat and sighed. He was totally right; this general wouldn't need his coat anymore, and she liked to think that maybe he was a good guy and would have been okay with letting a gal have it so she could stay warm during the cold, desert nights.

She had the coat off the corpse quickly, and didn't want to know how many times she looted dead bodies before in her previous life. Giving it a quick sniff, the Courier found the coat to smell not too bad, and she put it on. It was huge, but it was warm.

Six searched through the pockets and found nothing involving security codes. Sighing, she opened the desk drawers and hoped that the codes were in there. She didn't want to look through the guy's pants pockets.

In the top drawer was a holotape, and according to its label, it was the code she needed to open the locked door in the other room. She turned around and walked back the way she came, giving the codes to Ed-E and getting the bunker door open.

Sentry bots rolled around in the room, and Six and Lanius split up to take care of them. The Courier used her machete to rip out the cords on the back of the bot as if she saw Lanius do, and the bot was disabled quickly.

The smell of death was strong here, and Six peered into the corner of the room. Another dead Legionary was pinned to the wall, and an NCR trooper lay over a desk. Both had no skin.

"NCR here too," Six frowned.

"This place used to be important," Lanius remarked, "used to be a strategic point, then something happened to destroy the place."

So that was why there were soldiers from both sides here. Didn't they know the war was over? Did they think this place was worth fighting over anymore?

Six turned to another sign telling her that she could go home and shook her head. She couldn't go home, not with this crazy guy in the middle of nowhere telling her they would "settle this."

She trudged up the stairs and opened the door to the outside world. It was a ruin below, and she wasn't surprised. Ed-E floated around to face her, his speakers crackling with life. The stranger was trying to communicate with them.

"Taking your chances, coming here," the stranger said, "Just like bringing the lord of Vegas his tribute, bending your knee to Old World ghosts. You and that chip deserve each other, twenty-nine less coins than other traitors have carried, if history is true. Now see the road the Old World paves, and what the lights of New Vegas promise, if they haven't already blinded your eyes. You've brought a guest. This is a road you must walk alone."

No, it wasn't. Dude had to be crazy to think she would go by herself.

"I'm too important to go by myself," she replied, "If you actually knew me, then you'd know this. So, maybe you'd better tell me who you are, and what you want."

"I'm a Courier, courier six," he said, "was courier six, like you, and not like you, in all the ways that matter. Spent too many years looking for you, and now I'll let you come to me. I thought carrying that chip would kill you, but no, you've got lives in you. Storms, bullets, sand and wind, yet still you walk – for now."

His threats meant nothing, not when she had Lanius by her side. He could try, but he would fail.

"So you refused to deliver the chip to set me up to die?"

Lanius strolled out to the side, readying his blade in case the guy could take over Ed-E all the way.

"We all have death following us," the man said, "only a question of how close. You dodged it for a time – you're good at that. Talented at it, even. With that chip weighing you down, death catches up to you faster, without me pulling the trigger."

"Forget this," she sighed, "What do you want?"

"An ending to this road of you and me," he responded, "first, you need to find your way. At the end, I'll be waiting."

She didn't remember him. He had to have at least heard about that.

"Fine," Six sighed, "you went through a lot of trouble to get me out here, so let's just get on with it."

"America sleeps ahead of you," he announced, "its nightmares filled with quakes and storms. You'll need to find your own path. That means waking America's spears up from their slumber. There's ways; warheads to set off the collapse. Warheads could open the gates again. The robot with you can help you find the warheads you need to destroy, and their detonator. The way ahead is below. The tools are there. The rest is up to you."

That was seriously the most drawn out way of telling her to get a detonator and blow a path through the town.

"If we share history," Six interjected, "then before going on, I need to know the past."

"Who are you, who do not know your history?" he questioned, "You came all this way for answers. The currency I have could turn around, walk away, and go home at any point. If history matters to you, then you need to earn it. Any logs of mine I have cast away into the divide. They're lost to you. For now, find the trigger for the warheads in Hopeville. Use it to keep moving, and to keep alive."

"That job you sent me on made me forget everything," Six hissed, "and now you're playing games with me. I'll find this trigger, and then, I'll find you. Then you're going to tell me everything."

"The Divide will send its worst against you," the man said, "It may break you. We'll see if you're stronger. I left marks for you; the colors will tell you the way. We'll see if you're smart. It will lead you to the ending of your road, and will remind you of why you wander."

The speaker clicked off on Ed-E.

"I'm not smart," Six pouted, her voice small against the winds of the Divide.

She headed down the road from the bunker, toward a warped chain link fence. Beneath her feet, the road crumbled, like the other roads in Vegas. It was strangely comforting in this strange place, to feel something familiar. It was cold, the wind whipping around and causing her face to sting. Her pip-boy began to tick, and Six looked around for the source. To her right sat a large, metal cone with a red tip. It was so out of place that she figured it had to be a warhead.

"So we need triggers for this?" She murmured, "Why would I ever want to set this thing off?"

She didn't like it, and the guy had to be crazy for telling her to blow it up. The Courier figured that since this didn't look like it blocked the way forward, she'd let the warhead sleep.

* * *

There was something familiar about the strange man's voice, but Lanius couldn't quite place it. His manner of speaking, however, reminded him of Vulpes; the man took forever to make his point. It wasn't as if it mattered, though. He would not tell Six that he knew the man's voice unless he had a name to go with it. There was no sense in worrying her further.

"We should find a place to stay tonight," Lanius suggested. The sky was getting dark, and he didn't know what kind of creatures roamed around in the Divide at night.

Six grabbed his arm and lead him to an old repair shop to spend the night. With a quick pick of the lock, the Courier had the door open. She flipped the light switch on the wall to reveal working lights, possibly supplied with power from the nearby silos.

The door closed behind them, and the howling wind stopped. Six ushered Lanius across the room and gently pushed him into a chair. She stepped around behind him, and before the Butcher could ask what she was doing, her hands were in his hair, combing it back from his face.

"The wind's really bad out there and this hair is going to tangle," she chattered, "and since you kept your head in that helmet for all those years, you've probably forgotten about stuff like that. So we're tying it back so you don't have to shave your head, because that wouldn't look right."

He could do it himself, then. Why was she touching him?

His hair was bound quickly, and the Courier inched around to pin back the pieces that escaped the front of the binding.

"There," she proclaimed, standing back and circling around behind to look at her work.

Six gave the end one last tightening before giggling and batting at it with her hand.

"The littlest ponytail I've ever seen," the Courier declared.

The woman was insane. She did know who he was, didn't she?

Regardless, if her husband knew about what she just did, the size of his tantrum would be immeasurable.

He watched her shrug off her new coat, drape it over a nearby chair, and bustle about the room in an attempt to find food. Six bent over a countertop to look around, and he found himself staring at her ass.

"Who do you think this guy is?"

The question interrupted his study, and he couldn't decide if this was welcome or not.

"Seems emotional," Lanius shrugged, "like this is something personal."

Damn, he wanted a smoke. He knew he shouldn't have picked it up again, but it couldn't be helped. Tobacco and alcohol went together as a fine pair, and he hated to break them up.

Six gave up her search for food and turned back to him in worry. As she dug around in her pack, she grew more upset.

"I don't remember anything," she said, "so I can't tell if I did anything wrong. But I'd fix it if I could."

"This might be one of those things you can't fix," he frowned.

"I've gotta fix it," Six insisted, "If I don't fix it, then who will?"

Lanius shook his head, but didn't say anything more. Experience taught him that there were some things that he could never fix, that would always remain broken. He couldn't fix his desires – if they were truly wrong in the first place. He couldn't fix the Legion. He couldn't fix Vulpes.

And sometimes, by trying to fix what was broken, he succeeded only in breaking it further. This was something the Courier would have to learn for herself. He would be there, however, when she took that fall.

* * *

Searching for someone you hadn't seen in about eight years was tough, especially when your description of the person in question was, 'just plain'. But it was the brutally honest truth; Scrub wasn't really a pretty gal, but she wasn't ugly either. Girls like her were a dime a dozen, wandering the wastes with a few average guns. She didn't take any of her nice things with her: her long, handsome repeater had been left at home, her pip-boy discarded on the bed, her oversized leather overcoat hanging off a mannequin, her set of armor in a heap, and even her dog was given away to a local family.

The only identifying thing about her was her personality, and she left signs of it with her as she headed to wherever she was going. Scrub couldn't hide it if she tried.

She was known to disappear for a time, and she would wander back into town with some crazy new guns and even crazier new stories. But months passed, and nobody nearby heard of her. Many said that it was good riddance, that she was a nuisance for everyone. Others missed her, and hoped she would come back to make them feel safe. And that was the thing about her; nobody knew the real Sam Westin, not even her childhood friends.

One morning, he had enough of it all. He told her friends so as well, and it took little convincing for them to agree that they needed an intervention for Scrub. For too long, she had been spiraling out of control. For too long, he watched as she did whatever the hell she wanted with little regard for the consequences. It was only when she lost something precious to her that she realized that life wasn't just her game; the pain she felt was the same pain she inflicted on countless others.

Maybe it was that shame that made her disappear. Maybe it was the pain of having to face a life that ended up turning out to be not what she wanted. Maybe everything reminded her of what she lost; maybe, she ran away from it and kept running until nothing was familiar.

As he stared out at the desert, he realized that this had to be where she had gone. This looked almost nothing like home, and had little reminders of where they were from. It was beautiful out here – not more or less beautiful than home, just different – and it was wild, untamed, and rugged.

It reminded him of her. It filled him with an old longing that he tried to hide from everyone. Even after all these years, he still wanted to make her his girl. Even after growing up and growing apart – and sleeping with her best friend – he held the biggest torch for Sam Westin.

He glanced over at the girl that Scrub called her best friend, and knew that he would ditch her in a second if Scrub wanted him.

When she looked back and their eyes met, he realized that she knew it too.


	10. Chapter 10

Crassius watched as Vulpes made his way over to one of the Think Tanks. He told him that this one was Borous, but they all looked the same to him, except for the color of their brain dome. As they approached him, the praetorian made note that the bright green one was Borous.

Vulpes stepped ahead, and Crassius knew that he would have his usual warm smile ready to speak with the Think Tank.

"Have you come for a hello?" Borous asked, "Oh, I'll give you a hello; a hello unsurpassed in all creation!"

"I'm sure you will," Vulpes replied. A quick glance over told Crassius that Vulpes was in full charming mode, and if the bot had a hand, he'd give it a shake.

"The lobotomite animals are before me!" Borous continued, "What other terrifying terrors will plague us in our quest for knowledge? Communists? Communist animals, perhaps? Be warned: attempt to propaganda me, and I will shriek as a frightened babe, calling loyal cyberdog to my aid. Do you comprehend, commie animals?"

"Did you just call us animals?" Crassius frowned. He wasn't going to have any of this.

"Yes, animal," Borous replied, "hormones, pores, glands, all wrapped up in skin. Who knows what terrifying secrets lie beneath your epidermis? Scalpels shall tell us your secrets, even if we must cut deep for such knowledge. I was head of my biology class at American High, you know."

"Head of your biology class?" Vulpes asked, "That's rather impressive. Who are you, and what do you do here? You must be incredibly brilliant to have a place here."

Crassius nearly cringed at Vulpes' words. Did he have to kiss ass this much in his work?

"Before you is the brain of Dr. Borous," the bot replied, "Head of animology, beastology, and DNA scrambling technology here at Big Mt. I lay the bones and hearts of the animals bare beneath my searing gaze. Especially the dogs. I did so love dogs once, especially Gabe, that rascal."

"Tell me more about it," Vulpes said. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the nearby console, and Crassius wondered if that movement was precisely planned, or if it came naturally.

"There are many animals to shape," Borous replied, "industrious cazadores, the happy-go-lucky nightstalkers. They are my living, breathing DNA test tubes."

"You're responsible for cazadores?" Crassius asked. If so, this thing was evil at its heart.

"Indeed," Borous confirmed, "docile, curious, safe, sterile. They are contained here at Big Mt to preserve DNA, and for observation."

"Contained?" Crassius laughed, "Those things are all over the Mojave."

He lifted the bottom of his shirt to show Borous an old scar on his stomach.

"Here's a sting from one of them," he said.

Crassius remembered that time very well; the stinger slipped across his skin, and he narrowly missed being impaled. It was still enough venom to be laid up for days, wishing for death.

"No," Borous protested, "such creatures are only found here, for research purposes. They would be no more capable of escape than breeding."

"Oh, they breed alright," Vulpes snorted.

"I cannot expect a lobotomite to understand the careful surgical castrating procedures used in their creation. Perhaps a demonstration of my castrating power would settle your doubts."

Crassius wasn't going to test it, just in case. But he looked over and saw that Borous flipped the nasty switch in Vulpes' brain; there was the smirk, the haughty wrinkle of the nose that made it seem like Vulpes smelled something bad.

"Go ahead," Vulpes drawled, "you might even impregnate me somehow."

"Impregnate you?" Borous "What, do you want to make me vomit inside my tank? The mere notion makes the edges of my biomed gel crystalize into asymmetrical patterns."

"I don't think you have a good handle on your research," Vulpes concluded, "just saying."

"Nonsense!" Borous exclaimed, "That is what you speak! Nonsense from beyond. I was at the top of my class in American High. I knew facts, figures, data! We would know if our research was flawed, which it is not! We never contradict ourselves, so do not even try!"

Vulpes was pushing it, and Crassius didn't know how to stop the conversation from spiraling further out of control. Or, was this the plan to begin with? Had he been mistaken?

"Give me a fact," Vulpes smirked, "a single, concrete fact that has no flaws."

"Why are we even debating this?" Borous insisted, "What you ask is of null importance! Mobius besieges us, and there are more important things to worry about other than data and facts!"

With a shrug, Vulpes turned away.

"I'll leave you be," he nodded, "we'll talk later about facts."

"Until next time then," Borous called, "provided there is a next time for any of us."

As soon as they were far enough away, the praetorian gave Vulpes a glare.

"Well, that went well," he frowned.

Vulpes smirked and gave him a pat on the back.

"There's more to talk to," he said, "I'll behave with the rest, trust me."

Crassius shook his head and said that he was going to go spend time with Marcus. He'd leave Vulpes alone to do as he wished, and if this was messed up somehow, then it wouldn't be his fault.

* * *

Borous had nothing that Vulpes could go off of, so he couldn't help but goad him, especially after his comment about cazadores being safe and sterile. But Crassius was right; he had to focus on trying to win the rest of the Think Tank over. Vulpes looked around the room to figure out his next target.

Dr. O seemed to resent Klein, at least, just a little. Vulpes wanted to speak with him, in order to figure out what the cause of such grievance was. Perhaps, he could empathize, and get O on his side. From there, it could be easy to manipulate Klein, if enough of the Think Tank was against him.

Thus decided, he approached Dr. O. The bot said nothing to him, and he figured he ought to initiate the conversation.

"You're Dr. O, correct?" he nodded.

"O? Oh, yes," the bot drawled, "I'm not going to bother correcting you. At least you got the doctor part right. And I still can't believe Dala gave the big one that Robco Tech for his arm. Disgusting."

There were two things from that particular bit of conversation that he found interesting; the first, that he pronounced his name wrong, and the second the fact that he didn't like Robco.

"You have a problem with Robco?" Vulpes asked.

"Let's build a robot that will last for at least a thousand years," O spat, "it'll be way better than those geniuses at the Think Tank can think of. Forget Robert House and his stupid robots!"

It was about House. Apparently, they were rivals of sorts, long ago.

"I suppose I won't tell you what he's been up to, then," Vulpes chuckled.

"I don't care!" O replied, "Why would I? Ugh, I hope he died alone in a dingy room, streaming his last remaining bodily fluids into jars. And his dirty girl bots. Don't even get me started on those filthy biological catcher's mitts."

Vulpes let out a snort of laughter. Every man had a dirty secret, but this one was too much.

"You'll be happy to know that House is dead," he offered, "my wife took over New Vegas and shot him. When I saw him, he was a shriveled husk, streaming his last remaining bodily fluids into jars, just as you hoped."

"Good," O clipped.

"I did have a few questions –"

"Fine, ask," O interrupted.

Vulpes closed his eyes and exhaled. This was a test of patience.

"Do you have any other names?" he asked. That had to be something.

"Yeah," O replied, "I wasn't always O. I had to take that one by default because sometimes it's easier to accept the mistake as long as the purpose works. I really don't want to get into it; it's a sore topic with me. Really makes my gel ripple."

"You're sure?" Vulpes asked, "I'm a good listener. What happened?"

"Great, psychology," O drawled, "clearly the worst of the sciences, right after colosto-diarrhetics."

He paused for a moment then let out a sigh. It was strange, on a robot, but it reminded Vulpes that these bots were once human.

"I wasn't O," the doctor replied, "never was. It was circular, a single character, a digit, but not an O. But even with enhanced sensors, no one here could get it right. Always kept seeing the letter, not the number."

It was the heaviest hinting Vulpes encountered in a long time. He wondered if the doctor made it purposefully easy to guess.

"So, you're Doctor Zero?" Vulpes asked.

"Yes! I am Zero!" the doctor replied, "How hard is that?"

"So, would you like me to call you Zero, then?" Vulpes questioned, "My friend can call you Zero as well."

"Zero's my name," Zero replied, "I'm proud of it. It doesn't get the recognition it deserves. Truth be told, it doesn't matter that it's forgotten, just that their sensors didn't pick it up. It's similar but not the same."

"So just put a slash through the zero," Vulpes shrugged, "that's somewhat common."

"What?"

"It's standard termlink code to put a slash to distinguish the two," he deadpanned. The difference between zero and O was something that the Frumentarii were taught in their first lesson about terminal usage.

"Did I shoot myself with a brainial beam or something?" Zero mused, "That's brilliant! I mean, I would have come to the same conclusion eventually, but –"

There was a long pause, and the doctor's monitors went limp.

"Oh, who am I deceiving?" he sighed, "I would have never figured that out. I can't figure anything out. I'm useless."

Vulpes' intent was to manipulate, but now, he had a bit of a mess to clean up. It confirmed to him that at their core, these robots were humans. They had wants and desires, and longed to belong.

"So, is that what you want to be?" he asked.

"At least the last name was indisputable," Zero replied, "O is like, 'Oh! I stepped in something'."

Vulpes weighed the options. If he got Zero to stand up and declare his real name, he would give him a spark of independence. Helping the doctor figure this out, of course, would put him on his good side.

"Zero is quite powerful," Vulpes noted, "It reduces anything multiplied against it to zero."

"Well, of course it does," the doctor replied, "that's the most lethal of mathematics. That's pretty cool, really. Destroyer of numbers! I already wreck every robot I study; why not base it on arithmetic? I like your solution! With that kind of slash in the middle, I can set myself apart, if I wanted to. The biggest zero in all of Think Tank! They won't be able to escape it, that diagonal slash right down the middle."

"Slashagonal," Vulpes remarked.

"Great Isaac Asimov!" Zero shouted, "Did you just make up a word?"

"That I did," he nodded.

"It's brilliant!" Zero laughed, "and clever! And you – you should become one of us. Talking to you really unclogged some frustration. Talking; what a primitive form of thought-kicking."

"Not a problem," he replied, "I want to make sure that we get along, since we're working together. And I really do care."

No, he didn't.

With that, Vulpes left Zero to go on to his next target. He didn't really want to talk to 8, not after the sonjaculating incident. Still, he figured he'd better get to know them all.

He walked up to 8, noting how the bot turned toward him and made a bunch of static noises. It seemed to shrink away from him in fear.

"Can you understand me?" Vulpes asked.

There was a reply in the form of static.

"So, something must have happened with your voice module," he nodded.

Still, more static, and he found himself growing somewhat impatient.

"Is that a yes, or a no?" Vulpes asked.

This reply was different, but still, it was nothing more than static.

"Well, I'm certain you can understand me, and I want some answers," he frowned.

"Who are you?" he asked.

As 8 began to reply in a long wave of static, Vulpes sighed. This was going nowhere.

"Maybe I should have asked who you used to be."

There was more static, but he began to hear something in the static. There was a pattern, somehow.

"Tell me about these technologies," he nodded.

Vulpes listened carefully to the static. There was a definite pattern, and as the doctor continued to speak, he was able to decipher it.

"Hm," Vulpes frowned, "you're emitting characters in patterns of 8, bracketed, with tonal adjustment at the end."

There was more static, and 8 backed away in shock.

"My work has trained me to recognize and decipher patterns," he nodded, "and that pattern is familiar to me. I can't remember where I've seen it, though."

The pattern became more recognizable, until Vulpes was able to pick out occasional words. 8 was in the middle of explaining his speech patterns to him.

"Nice pun on the file header ref," he chuckled.

Vulpes listened as 8 told him exactly what his language was.

"So, your broadcast pattern is RobCo termlink, but not by choice," he noted.

There was a wave of static in confirmation.

"If that's RobCo termlink protocol, doesn't that mean it can be hacked?"

8 recoiled in terror, and Vulpes smirked. He could do something evil – very, very evil – and nobody would know or be able to stop him. But what would be the point it doing it? Dr. 8 was already in a living hell; nobody could understand him, or didn't bother to try. He supposed he ought to not do it, then.

"If that's termlink code," he sighed, "then don't worry. I'm not going to take advantage of your exposed code. I've done some terrible things in my life, but violating a free man's will will not be one of them."

8 told him that it was done without his consent, and that the person who changed his voice did so out of anger and spite. He never consented to such a thing, and never would have.

"Well, I know what it's like to be experimented on," Vulpes sneered, "and it's morally wrong."

He rolled his eyes as Dr. 8 replied. No, it wasn't necessary to cut open his head.

"Now that we know each other better," Vulpes nodded, "can you tell me more about the sonic emitter?"

8 told him that it was a lethal sonic death ray. It used sound waves to vibrate at a frequency that would destroy certain targets.

"Really? Interesting."

The bot seemed to like his interest in the sonic emitter, and told him about finding more codes for it to damage more types of enemies.

"So there's another emitter code out there?"

Two bits of static.

"There's two?" Vulpes asked, "I may have picked them up. I grab anything useful looking that's not nailed down."

8 chided him for taking things that weren't his.

"It's being resourceful," he frowned, "and what are two hundred year old skeletons going to do with it anyway?"

There was no reply, and Vulpes wondered what he could say next.

"So, when I first arrived and you sonjaculated into the sonic emitter –"

8 interrupted him to say how much fun it was, and that he made sure to do if often because it was better than mentats.

"Those are natural, healthy desires," Vulpes sighed, "but it should be kept private. Don't you remember that?"

8 didn't seem to care, and Vulpes supposed it wasn't his problem, then. He said a quick goodbye and walked away, pleased that he made two acquaintances of the Think Tank. Looking around, Vulpes realized that Dr. Dala was the next logical choice.

He approached her slowly, noting how her eye monitors swiveled ever so slightly to secretly watch him draw closer. By the time he crossed the room, she was facing him full on and completely dropped whatever she was working on.

"You are an unusual specimen to so boldly walk into the mighty expanse of the Think Tank," Dala marveled, "you are fearless and proud as teddy bear."

"Will you indulge me?" she asked, "speak a few words, toward the monitors, so I can record them for future study."

He didn't have to greet her, and didn't have to try to talk her into having a conversation. Vulpes figured he could give her what she wanted and began to recite some Ovid – probably butchering it all to hell – but doing as she asked in an extravagant way nonetheless.

"Yes, that will definitely do," Dala said, "And in such an ancient, scholarly language. You surprise me, scrawny bear."

"I can't help but notice your fascination with the human body," he smirked.

"What? Nonsense."

She jerked back in surprise and looked around, as if her colleagues would catch her at any second. Vulpes narrowed his eyes, stretched his arms over his head, and gave a mock yawn. Dala couldn't take her eye monitors off of him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Vulpes removed his leather jacket and his body reacted immediately to the cold room.

"Stop it," Dala ordered, "why are you making me partake in this filthy formography?"

Smirking, he stretched his arms over his head once again, his loose pants falling down his hips to reveal part of his stomach.

"Enough!" the doctor hissed, "I am already intrigued. You have sufficiently percolated me. I don't know what it is about the biology of the lobotomites. It – it infects my thoughts; all that skin, and muscle, and tissue."

"Why don't you just give in?" Vulpes asked, "There's nothing wrong with looking at the human body. Humanity has always been obsessed with achieving a perfect standard of form, and has always studied the best ways to achieve it."

"Perhaps there is value in what you say," She admitted, "I – I did so enjoy breathing once, long ago."

"I could come back any time and just breathe for you," he remarked, "It's really no trouble for me."

"Would you? I feel so ashamed, yet so intrigued. You'll have to give me breaks in between visits, or else my gel might run over."

"Do you want to do one now?" he asked

"If you wouldn't mind," she replied, "just hold still, and let my monitors scan you."

He stood as Dala hovered around him, making soft humming noises. His breathing – his mere existence – was an obsession for her. The humming increased, and started coming out in short bursts, almost like panting.

"You like that, don't you?" Vulpes chuckled, his voice low.

"Yess," she hissed. Dala's voice was breathy, and it hit him that she was more than just turned on from their interaction.

Someone – something? – was getting off just looking at him. The thought sent a jolt of arousal down his spine. This interaction was turning him on.

"You're doing terrible things to my ego," he purred.

"You should be proud, scrawny bear," Dala whispered, "you should be proud."

The soft 'woowooing' intensified and he couldn't help but move. Vulpes stepped forward and gently placed his hands on either side of one of her eye monitors, and exhaled in a small pant. His breath fogged up the monitor, and Dala began to sputter as her body shuddered. It was definitely an orgasm, or at least, the Think Tank equivalent of one.

Vulpes backed away as Dala collected herself. He pondered for a moment if this constituted cheating; the only thing he did was breathe at the doctor. And he definitely didn't get naked or expose himself, nor did he gain any pleasure from the act – intrigued bulge in his pants notwithstanding.

There was a moment of silence before Dala hovered closer, one of her eye monitors hovering lower on his body. Vulpes backed away in defense; he drew the line at letting her examine 'that', because it would most definitely constitute cheating.

"That is your glove?" Dala asked.

Vulpes nodded, glad that he was wrong.

"There was hair in that glove," she continued, "the hair of a twenty-three year old female, who, until approximately two years ago, had heavy mentat usage. I tested a strand of it then tucked it back into its nest. That hair does not fit your description."

Mentats? Though it was part of her past, Vulpes wasn't keen on telling Six that she used to take them. He would, however, tell her age. This would please her.

"That is my wife's hair," he smiled, "it is kept there so that I keep a part of her with me everywhere I go."

"Your wife," Dala deadpanned, "you're married?"

"Not in a traditional sense," he replied, scratching his head. There was no ceremony. There was no paperwork, no taxes, no children, and no estate.

But when had a life bond between two people become such an institution? It must have been from the Old World. He liked to think of his marriage as a marriage of the purest form; their bond was what tied them, not the law.

"But you're attached?" Dala pushed.

"At the soul."

"Oh."

There was a long pause before the doctor continued.

"I-I would like to study bonded pairs," she stammered. It sounded insincere, but he let it slide. Dala opened up to him about her fetish, and that was not a small accomplishment.

"The other two males that came with me are a bonded pair," he said.

"I do see how the spotty red bear has relocated himself to be with the incapacitated one," she noted, "they certainly are a bonded pair. You're working to reanimate the one, yes?"

"That's the plan," Vulpes sighed.

Crassius came out of the room and made his way down the stairs toward them. From the look on his face alone, Vulpes could tell that there were no changes. He turned to Dala and gave her a small smile.

"We're going to have to get started early in the morning," he said, "So we're going to go back to the Sink and get some sleep."

Crassius kept walking, and Vulpes turned to catch up to him. He threw a quick goodnight over his shoulder.

"Goodnight, scrawny bear," Dala called.

The pair walked down the ramp and into the elevator. When it closed, Vulpes sighed and leaned against the wall in frustration.

"Why am I the scrawny one?"

"Because I'm clearly not," Crassius snorted.

"But, scrawny?"

"Does your wife think so?" Crassius countered.

No, she didn't. She loved everything about him, skinny limbs and all. The elevator opened at The Sink, and he stepped out into the room. Vulpes trudged into the bedroom, flipped on the radio in the hopes of some news from Vegas, and sat down to remove his boots.

Through the static, a voice came out of the old radio. It was familiar, and Vulpes knew instantly who it was.

"The Sierra Madre is always open for you," she said, "I hope that you've found what you were looking for, and that you and the woman you love are safe and happy. I'll always remember you doing what needed to be done, without prejudice."

"I hope you show others the same kindness that you showed me," she finished.

Vulpes sighed and turned the radio off.

"I'm a work in progress, Christine."

They had one more technology to retrieve in the morning, and hopefully, they'd be going home intact.

* * *

The night was uneventful, which made him grateful. They shared packed food, and Six worried about this person. She was barely able to hide her excitement that this man might know her, but also appeared nervous at this notion. He couldn't reassure her, and truthfully, didn't know how to. Lanius didn't know any pretty words, and certainly wouldn't fill her head with trite nonsense and platitudes about the situation.

Despite her worry, she slept soundly through the night with her head on his shoulder, leaving him to stare up at the cracks in the ceiling and wonder why she decided to be so close to him. Perhaps, she found some comfort in him. After a quick breakfast, they began to gear up to face the Divide.

Lanius watched as the Courier braided her long hair, her tiny, nubby fingers working their way through each section and winding it around the others. He was surprised to see no callouses on her hands, and wondered how this was possible; a typical courier would have many rough spots on their hands from their life on the road. Then again, two years of domestication and running the Mojave were sure to soften her up.

She wound the long braid around itself then used countless bobby pins to pin it to her head. With her hair up, the Courier looked even younger, and it reminded him of their stark age difference.

It gave Lanius the urge to check her weapons before they left the building, and the woman allowed him to do so without protest. He checked the slide on her golden pistol and saw that it was well oiled, and that all the moving parts appeared to be in order. He drew the machete at her side and tested its sharpness. Finding it satisfactory, he put the blade back and gave the belt it was secured to a firm tug. Next, he focused on the state of her armor. It appeared to be in a good state of repair, and he couldn't help but notice that it left very little to the imagination.

Not that he needed much imagination; he saw her naked before, with Vulpes. And she knew that he saw her naked, and didn't seem to mind. Rather, she acted like nothing happened; it was as if a switch was flipped and she was a different woman from the one he saw that day.

Lanius finished checking the Courier's equipment and bit back a chuckle when she stepped forward to check his in turn. She dragged a chair through the dust in front of him, hopped up, and began to examine his hair and pin it out of his face. It was less humorous when her breasts were on eye level and she gently raked her nails over his scalp. Lanius swallowed thickly as tingles ran from his head downward. She shouldn't caress him, especially not with the reaction it gave him.

"I'm fine," he insisted, and the Courier mercifully hopped down.

They made their way to the door and stepped back out into the Divide. The wind was weaker that day, the sun peeking out from a small hole in the clouds. Six stopped and looked at the device on her arm, then pointed in the direction of a series of crumbled buildings and a wall of cars.

"The compass points over there," she said.

The Courier skipped over to the pile of cars and tried to jump to see over, but it was much taller – taller than him, even.

"Come on," Six pouted, "boost me."

He didn't want to, but he had no excuse to not touch her. Lanius felt an intense connection to this woman; each time they touched, it was nothing short of electric. He wondered why this was, and briefly wondered if it was because of her connection to Vulpes.

But Lanius remembered the feisty, soot-covered woman that made him stand down from taking Hoover Dam. He remembered her strength of spirit as she defied the Legion and NCR both; Vegas belonged to her – to the people – and she would be the Mojave's guardian. This same strength forced him to his knees and made him plead for her mercy and forgiveness. Lanius remembered the oath he swore; he was her tool, to use and dispose of as she saw fit.

So he did as she asked and boosted her up to peer over the wall of cars, ignoring her tiny jump as his hands made contact with her hips.

Six felt it too.

Lanius swallowed thickly as her rear ended up in his face. He'd rather get castrated than to hurt Vulpes so deeply by touching his wife; he'd done enough terrible things to that man already.

"Nothing," she whispered, mercifully drawing him back to the present.

They looked for a way around and found one by climbing up a ramp created by the wall of a fallen building. Lanius heard a strange noise, grabbed the Courier, and dove to the side, just as a rocket blew past them.

Drawing his sword, he chastised himself for allowing them to become compromised with his lack of attention. As a feral Legionary ran after them with a machete, Lanius decapitated him and pressed onward, keeping himself low inside the building. Six followed behind him, her footsteps soundless.

While Ed-E flew around and shot at the soldiers, they made their way to the front of the building in hopes of finding the person with the rocket launcher. He stood on the roof of the building opposite them, peering through his scope at Ed-E.

"I can get him," Six whispered.

Lanius glanced at her nervously. If she missed this shot, then they would both be dead. Before he could tell her this, the Courier popped up and shot at the man with the rocket launcher. The enemy tumbled off the building, and Six shot him again, to make sure he stayed down. Her marksmanship was excellent.

They waited a moment and listened carefully to their surroundings. Without a sound or movement around them, Lanius figured it to be safe and stepped out from cover first. He made a quick sweep of the area, found nothing, and then came back to the Courier's hiding spot to tell her that it was clear.

Together, they approached the building across from them. The faded brass sign on the left of the door said that it was a missile base headquarters, and on the door was a hasty painting of an old world flag.

"Is this his sign?" Six wondered.

"Could be."

Lanius stepped forward and opened the door. A feral Legionary waited inside, and he was put down quickly. This wasn't good; if there were this many feral soldiers, then their commanders would likely be in a similar state. Lanius wouldn't be able to get them to stand down or request assistance.

He watched as Six entered the room on the right. As Ed-E unlocked a terminal, Lanius kept an eye on the Courier. She traded caps for stimpacks with the terminal, and then made her way back to him.

Motioning toward the hall, Six leaned in to whisper.

"Let me go first," she said, "you won't have room to swing your sword in the hall."

Lanius shook his head in defiance and entered the hallway before the Courier could step in front of him. There was another feral in there, half-dressed in NCR and Legion armor. With a quick thrust of his sword, Lanius killed him. He heard the Courier grumble behind him and he smirked, acting like he heard nothing. He wasn't going to let her in front of him.

The hallway wound around to an office with a safe. Lanius watched as Six picked the lock and shook his head; to have skills like those, he imagined the woman had to be of the distasteful sort before she was shot. And as he picked up a bottle of whiskey on the floor, Lanius supposed he was rather distasteful as well.

The safe popped open and Six stuffed everything of value in it into her bag. At the bottom was a sheet of paper. The Courier grinned and stuffed it into her coat pocket.

"Armory codes," she explained.

They left the building, and the Courier brought her arm up to look at the machine on her wrist once again.

"Detonator is over there," Six explained.

"How do you know that this is the right way?" he asked, as he followed her toward a locked gate.

The Courier tilted her head to the side as she jiggled a bobby pin into the lock. This one seemed to be a little more difficult for her, but with a little shimmy of her hands, it popped open like all the others.

"The compass tells me," she shrugged. The gate opened with a loud squeal.

"And how does the compass know?"

Six turned around to stare at him with wide eyes.

"I don't know," she admitted, "It'll update after I talk to someone, even. It just knows."

Lanius wasn't sure if the device on her arm truly knew, but he certainly didn't trust it any more than the ball of spiny scrap that floated beside them.

They made their way through the rubble of more collapsed buildings, taking out feral soldiers on their way. As soon as the pair entered a building, the Courier paused, looked at her wrist, then jumped side to side.

"Marker's moving," she beamed, "it's right above us."

Without a second thought, Six bounded up the stairs. Lanius cursed and chased after her, hoping that there were no enemies above. Fortunately, the sight that greeted him was an excited Courier holding what looked like an energy pistol. This had to be the detonator.

Six looked down at her wrist and out toward a pile of rubble. A warhead lay in the middle of it, presumably blocking their way forward.

"I'm afraid to shoot it," she whispered, motioning toward the warhead.

"You should be," Lanius nodded. This was the weapon that destroyed the world.

As Six pulled the trigger on the detonator, a red beam shot out, heating the warhead. Lanius stepped forward to cover her ears with his hands; it would be a loud explosion, and she didn't need to lose some of her hearing from it. The warhead glowed red, and Lanius knelt down to shield at least one of his ears from the blast by pressing the side of his head into her back. He heard her heart hammering in absolute terror of what she was doing, and a small whimper as the warhead grew brighter. The hovering bot pressed itself against his other ear, just before the warhead exploded in a ball of fire.

Even with his ears covered, it was loud. The shockwave from the explosion hit them with a blast of hot, gritty air, and the Courier held still in terror, her heartbeat much faster than before. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, however.

Lanius stood and stepped around to face the Courier. With trembling hands, she lowered the pistol and looked up at him in fear.

"Why is that explosion familiar?"

* * *

Arcade groaned as a high-pitched whine drew closer to his bedroom door. He tried ignoring the sound for what seemed like hours, but it was no use; he wouldn't be able to sleep through all that noise. Grumbling, the doctor swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his glasses, and flipped on the light on the nightstand. Arcade shuffled over to the bedroom door and threw it open.

There was nobody in the living room to his and Veronica's little suite, but the noise was louder out here. With each passing second, the doctor grew more irritated, until a shadow passed in front of the door that led to the hallway.

He stomped over to the door, jerking it open to reveal Veronica and a vacuum. She wore a light blue dress and tiny, ivory heels, and over that was a little, pink apron with frills. Flashing him a brilliant smile, the Scribe did a twirl and continued to roll the vacuum over the carpet.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the machine's whine.

"Cleaning!" Veronica chirped.

"But it's so early –"

He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost eleven.

"Carry on," he sighed.

The Scribe beamed, turned off the machine, and removed a feather duster from the pocket of her apron. She attacked a nearby wall sconce with it, sending out clumps of two-hundred year old dust to fall onto the freshly cleaned carpet.

There was a ding from the elevator, and Graham emerged from the presidential suite.

"So, you're cleaning," he remarked, "and that's what all this noise is about."

"Yes! It's too dusty back here."

Graham nodded slowly in approval at her work.

"If only the Courier would get struck with similar urges," he snorted.

Arcade laughed as Veronica gave them a horrified look.

"I know," she admitted, "it's so awful in there. I imagine that every surface in that room is sticky or crusty – or both."

The doctor nodded solemnly. He didn't want to know the amount of bacteria crawling the walls in Six's room. It was never cleaned, and being busy wasn't much of an excuse when there was a laundry chute in the hallway that led to securitron cleaning services.

"You'd think that with how finicky Vulpes is," she continued, "that he'd clean it himself eventually."

Graham shook his head and chuckled.

"A Legion officer wouldn't be caught dead doing women's work," he said, "and you probably wouldn't want him to. He wouldn't know a mop from a toilet brush."

Veronica made a disgusted face then continued cleaning as she grumbled about Vulpes being the type that would make a gal sleep in the wet spot on the bed.

The elevator dinged again, and this time, Yes Man rolled out with a small entourage of securitrons with aprons tied around their bodies.

"Hello, darling!" he greeted, "Do you require assistance?"

Veronica gasped and skipped over to the robot.

"Oh, sir!" she swooned, "Sir is most generous!"

Yes Man grabbed her wrist and cleared his throat.

"Well, you're welcome, little lady," he replied, giving her a little twirl.

"And uh," Yes Man added, "I have some others on that situation in the Courier's room. Gonna have to have a little chat with her about that one. Of course, she'll stomp her foot at me, but I do know what's best."

Arcade watched as the bot rolled over to Graham.

"Need anything?" it asked.

"I have everything I could need," he replied.

"Want anything?"

There was a small chuckle as Graham put his hands in his pockets.

"The flesh always wants things," he said.

"But you're happy," Yes Man stated.

Graham nodded in agreement, and this made Arcade feel some small relief that such a tragic person found happiness.

"That's good," the bot said, "cause if dad's not happy, nobody's happy."

To this, Graham laughed and told them that he'd be in his room if they needed anything. Arcade knew that this was code for 'I've had my fill of people for now and would prefer to be left alone', and didn't pursue him for the conversation he suddenly craved. It was then that the bot turned its nosy screen toward him.

"Followers in Freeside would probably love to hear from you," it said, "after all, it has been a while."

Arcade shrugged, suddenly not in the mood to be social.

"Julie probably misses you," the bot insisted.

The doctor stared into the unblinking monitor in front of him and gave in. Truthfully, he didn't want to get showered and walk that far. But when Yes Man insisted, there was no room for argument.

* * *

Lanius attempted to clear his head, but it was difficult. The Courier found a nuclear explosion familiar. Where was she from, that she had seen something like this before? Given the small size of Hopeville, it could have been anywhere. The US government liked to hide their secret weapons in the most unlikely places.

More confusing was the amount of pity he felt for the woman. It must have been vexing to encounter things familiar, and not have an idea where they came from.

He gently directed her down the path they were supposed to go, keeping an eye on the surrounding areas for enemies. The Courier was too distracted to watch.

Rounding a corner, they came across another warhead in their path. Soldiers camped around it, completely oblivious to the visitors.

Six readied the detonator, and Lanius crouched behind her to cover her ears once again. The warhead glowed hot, then exploded, taking out the nearby enemies. Who lounged in the shade of a nuclear warhead anyway?

"Okay, that one was better," Six said. She exhaled deeply and clipped the detonator onto her belt.

They made their way forward to the newly created path, passing by burning wreckage. Corpses were strewn about, and Lanius approached one of the bodies. It looked familiar.

Nudging it over, he saw the markings of a centurion, his crested helm an obvious giveaway. The Courier gave him a questioning look, and Lanius turned his head away.

"Centurion," he frowned, "this is going to be dangerous."

Six nodded. They continued toward a rusted, half-collapsed bridge that groaned under their weight. When they reached the other side, the Courier stopped to look at the device on her arm, then pointed in the direction it told them to go.

They stood in front of a collapsed overpass tunnel. Dozens of feet of debris lay around it, making going around impossible. The only way forward was through the tunnel.

This didn't seem to bother the Courier, who stepped inside the dark cavern. Sighing, Lanius followed after her. By the time he caught up, the tunnel had grown dark and cramped. The robot behind them began to play a log as they descended further, but Lanius paid it no mind.

There was something off with this place. He looked around for signs of danger, but it was still – too still.

"I can't believe they'd approve that," Six grumbled, "I've met enough robots to know that they're more than just machines."

It beeped in reply ad bobbed up and down.

"Well I hope they got what was coming to them," she frowned, "that's wrong."

"Let's press on and stay quiet," Lanius interrupted, "we don't know what's in here."

The tunnel narrowed up ahead; Lanius went in first. He ducked into the drainage pipe, and saw a deathclaw on the far end of the cavern. His eyes darted to make sure the Courier was safe, and he drew his sword. When Lanius looked back, the deathclaw was bleeding out through a gash in its neck. His eyes couldn't be wrong; the creature was alive but a second ago.

There was something in here, something strong enough to kill a deathclaw outright. This place was dangerous.

Six sensed this as well and stayed close as they stepped out into the large cavern. Moisture dripped from the ceiling into muddy pools, each drop glistening in the light of a small lantern in the middle of the cavern.

Bones crunched under their feet as they stepped forward, the smell of death hanging heavy in the air. They paused in their trek, listened, and heard nothing apart from dripping water. As Lanius took another step, a bone snapped under his weight, and a nearby shadow darted away.

Something appeared to catch the Courier's eye, and she bent over to take a look. It was a pair of pants – NCR trooper uniform – that she quickly looted. From the pocket she withdrew a holotape, and didn't waste any time in inserting it into her pip-boy.

"It's orders," she whispered, showing him the letters on the screen.

"Read it to me," he told her.

There was no time for Lanius to read it himself; the shadows on the walls were moving. His focus on the cavern was so intense that barely registered the Courier's words. A group of NCR rangers were sent here to clear the caves out; he saw that much from the bones and tattered remains of NCR uniforms. To the side, he saw a hat of an experienced veteran ranger, along with other veteran uniforms.

"Expected little resistance," she finished.

Whatever was here finished off a detachment of experienced NCR rangers. These weren't ordinary creatures. He contemplated leaving the cavern, but the Courier walked up ahead to make her way through a crevasse that led to another room. Lanius followed her into the next area, his eyes quickly taking in another message that said the Courier could go home.

If one man made it through here, then Lanius was sure that he could. His issue, however, was in the fact that he had to look after the Courier. He hoped that she was tougher than she seemed.

Another shadow darted from a corner, and Lanius readied his sword for attack. When he glanced back in the direction that the shadow came from, he saw it.

It was a short, nimble looking creature with black, scaly skin, and glowing, white spikes on its arms. It crouched on a rock bathed in light from a crack in the cavern's ceiling. Its eyelid slid over a glowing eye to blink slowly. The long claws on its hands let Lanius know that this was indeed the creature that the NCR report described, and that its small stature had no bearing on its strength and viciousness.

They were out in the open with it; there was no way the creature couldn't see them, unless the light somehow impaired it.

Lanius didn't want to find out and quickly darted forward to behead it quickly. With it dead, he opted to examine the creature, in order to know what they were up against.

It had the head of a gecko, with pointed fringe, while its body more resembled that of a human. The scales on its hands and feet were white, each tipped with dangerous claws. Six cringed away from it and continued into the cavern.

She didn't make it far; more creatures burst up from the ground, causing her to shriek in terror. Lanius didn't wait, and ran forward to kill them before they could get to her. When they saw that he was coming for them, they changed priorities, both heading straight toward him.

The Blade of the East arced downward, cutting one in half. Other creatures erupted from the ground, charging toward them. He cut down two more before another narrowly scratched his arm. To his left, Six shot it, unloading an entire clip into its head, even after it was dead.

When the creatures were all gone, Lanius had blood dripping down one arm, and a terrified Courier clinging to the other.

"Have you ever seen something like that?" she whimpered.

"No," he replied. In all his years of fighting and traveling across the desert, he never saw a creature quite like these. They couldn't be natural.

"I'm scared," Six cried. The Courier clung pitifully to his arm, her grip growing increasingly tighter with each second.

"I need my arms to fight, woman," he sighed.

Six reluctantly let go and reloaded her pistol. When she was ready, they continued toward the end of the tunnel. Within a few steps, more creatures erupted from holes in the ground. Lanius charged forward to kill them; daylight was within sight, at the far end of the tunnel.

The sound of gunfire echoed throughout the cave, along with the sound of the robot's laser weapons and battle song. They made quick work of the creatures, and soon, the cave was silent. Lanius caught his breath and jumped as he heard a stray shot behind him. He turned in time to see one of the creatures fall within a foot of him.

The courier killed it before it had a chance to sneak up on him. Her aim was exceptional once again, killing it in a single shot without missing and accidentally hitting him.

They headed to the end of the cavern, toward the bright sun that beamed in through the overpass exit. As they walked, he felt a tiny hand slip around his back, and he soon found the Courier clinging to him once again.

Lanius put a hesitant hand on her shoulder and looked up at the sign to High Road, hoping that it meant better things ahead.


	11. Chapter 11

A/n: Sorry for the delay! I'm finally getting back into classes and work and trying to rearrange my schedule to be healthy and productive...

Yeah, it's not working out so well .

* * *

The mid-afternoon sun poured in through the open mouth of the cave, and Six felt optimistic for the first time since they used the detonator. The highway on which they walked was remarkably intact, and from here, Six saw the old, ruined expanse of the Divide. There was nothing out here, save a few insane soldiers, and an equally insane guy hell-bent on getting her to follow him around.

Ed-E floated out in front of them, his spines all pointing in one direction. He was receiving a transmission, and there was only one person who Six could think of that would do such a thing. For a brief second, she wished Vulpes was the person dialing into the bot's frequency, instead of the guy who dragged her out here. The Courier was lonesome for her husband. She pretended that it could be him for a minute, before the other man's voice ruined her fantasy.

"There you are," the mysterious caller said, "you went quiet for a time. Thought you might have returned to Vegas and its comforts. There's a lesson here in the Divide. Old World history about holding on to something so tightly it breaks, or falls apart."

Six held on to many things, but none so much as her marriage. Vulpes was everything to her, and she guarded him closely, even against himself. But within a short time, it seemed to spiral out of control; Vulpes wasn't comfortable with whom he was, and she didn't encourage him for fear that he would leave her.

Was she holding on too tightly? The stranger's words stung, and he probably didn't even know it.

"You may have seen the cracks in Vegas' walls already," he continued, "If so, they'll grow in time, no matter what you do."

What did that even mean? Vegas was stronger than ever, and it was because of the hard work of good people. Was this guy running off old news?

"As obsessed as you are about history," Six said, "I prefer the future."

"Your road can lead to two things," he retorted, "the tribals of Vegas, their spirits crushed, or your face, on a robot servant, smiling forever in a dead casino. There's a future in neither."

"What do you have against Vegas?"

"Vegas is Old World, and filled with Old World ghosts," he replied, "and ghosts need the living to do their work. That's why the families are there. That's why the Bear stumbles around there to lose itself. It's a dance; I don't know its purpose. You've seen the walls, and what's inside. That's what worries me."

It wasn't like that. And what was inside Vegas wasn't as awful as everyone said it was; House was long gone, and the people of the Strip made only a fraction of its inhabitants.

"Vegas is one of the safest places in the Mojave," she said, "full of people who want a better life. And that gives me hope."

"No, inside those walls, the Old World is waking up," he countered, "from what I've heard, that city never went to sleep, and it worries me. The blue of the Mojave skies isn't like the rest of the world – don't hear a Geiger ticking there; more to fear from predators than rads. The city was one of the few to not be hit by bombs. Had it been my call, Vegas would have been one of the first pieces of the Old World to burn."

"That doesn't matter," she insisted, "what matters is what's ahead."

"Follow the High Road," the man said, "you're many miles from the Divide yet, but you got this far – you and your sword for hire. Wasn't sure if you'd make it, above and below the underpass."

She wasn't sure she'd make it either, not after those creepy things attacked them. Still, this person led her out to this place for some reason. He seemed to know the area well, and knew what was going on before it was ruined. Maybe he'd tell her a bit about it, so she at least had an idea of how to behave around the erratic tenants of the Divide.

"Those Legionaries in Hopeville wore Legion armor," Six said, "and strange masks and blades." There had to be a reason why they did what they did.

"You must know what the Legion worships," he replied, "what they hold on to, even after what happened to them. They bear false versions of Legate Lanius' mask, the one Caesar fashioned for him. I thought it was an insult at first, but I know better now. It's shaped from the Divide metal, not fashioned with care and strength, but with hate. It keeps them anchored; crude, effective, like the blades they carry, distant mirrors of their Legate – a symbol they can hold on to, while the Divide tears at them."

"If they're clinging to this symbol so much," she said, "then why were there NCR with them?"

And besides that, when the Legate failed the Legion, he was thrown aside, like Graham. Before then, was Lanius that well respected? Was he worshiped, instead of the Legion's old gods?

"You see the truth," the man replied, "what each soldier wears is what they wore before this all happened. Pain makes strange allies, and what hatred they had for each other was turned against the Divide. Few survived intact. Many NCR were already here when the destruction happened. They kept the route to the East open in fear of Caesar, in fear of the Legion."

He pronounced Caesar like a Legionary. Lanius must have caught this too; he stepped forward to narrow his eyes at Ed-E, as if the bot was the man instead.

"The NCR would have needed this supply line open to reinforce Hoover Dam," Lanius interrupted. He knew all the plans, and why the Legion was there. And he certainly didn't seem to like this person talking so casually with Six.

"The Bear couldn't have been allowed to reach the Dam that easily," the man replied, "the long 15 and Canaan were bad enough. House, Caesar, and Kimball – you'd think that wall was their whole world. The Divide was a strategy to get to the Bear. If you can't kill it in one stroke, then cut an artery; bleed it out, starve it to death."

This all made sense; it explained why the Legionaries and NCR were here, and why this location was so special. But why was she here? Was he trying to tell her what to do with Vegas? Because, if he was, he was in for quite the disappointment. She wouldn't listen to him, unless it was an actual good suggestion. Personally, it seemed like the guy was a bit crazy.

"I get that," Six said, "but I still don't get why this involves me at all. Where do I go so we can talk in person about this?"

"At the end of the High Road lies Ashton, a silo," he directed, "That machine with you can open it like it did to the one in Hopeville."

'That machine' came out in a drawl, and she didn't have to see a face to know that this man didn't like Ed-E.

"Look mister," she frowned, "you have a lot of hate for the robot with me. I can hear it in your voice."

If he had a problem with Ed-E, he'd have a problem with Yes Man. She had little doubt that this could be why he dragged her out to the middle of nowhere; he didn't trust a machine running Vegas. Regardless, if he was going to be mean, she would leave Ed-E a distance away from their meeting point, so the guy wouldn't hurt him.

"Hate?" the man replied, "No, there's nothing to hate in metal, in steel, gold, or platinum. Your machine is just a tool."

He still sounded resentful, and she heard through his lies. It reminded her a bit of Vulpes and some of his half-truths, which was a bit disturbing, given that this person was a stranger.

"Still not really buying it," she sighed, "but this road leads nowhere. There's nothing in the Divide."

"Many in the Mojave think that the Divide's nothing but canyon and storm," he countered, "but it wasn't always. There was life, a town, something more recent that you saw in your own lifetime. It had the same name, and it was a supply line. You saw it back then, looking East, looking home."

"So you're saying I walked this road once from another direction," she mused, "from west to east. To home."

Six felt a flicker of hope. He knew her; he knew where she was from and who she was.

"All roads lead to home," he replied, "Home isn't where you were born into this world. You taught me that. It was part of your message, whether you meant it or not. You made this road, made the Divide what it was."

As quickly as it appeared, hope left her. The guy was speaking in riddles again.

"I don't even know what's going on," she insisted, "so maybe you should tell me what happened."

"The NCR saw worth in that road you made," he explained, "staked a claim, whether it was wanted there or not. And where the Bear tries to cling to life, the Legion comes, bearing messages in blades, sometimes, in Couriers. You knew what was coming, as sure as I know what's coming for you. Keep walking west into the sun, and walk there until it dies. There, I'll be waiting."

Ed-E's speakers shut off, and Six sighed and turned to her companion. She wasn't sure if she was closer to answers, or if she was still in the same spot before.

"Thanks for standing around while we chatted forever," Six said, "he seems to like to talk, and each answer has a little more information and a bit of a puzzle."

Lanius nodded, obviously in no mood to share his thoughts on the conversation she had with the stranger. Together, they walked down the overpass called High Road, and despite the warm sun and the gentle breeze at her back, Six was troubled.

She wasn't sure if this person knew her or if he only knew of her. He was obviously a Legionary, from the way he pronounced Caesar's name. He was also obviously no longer part of the Legion, based on how he spoke of the Legion, using 'they' and 'them' instead of 'us'. He spoke of the NCR in the same manner. Perhaps, the man no longer had a side.

They passed cars along the broken overpass, and a trailer with an old world flag spray-painted on it. This was obviously the man's sign.

Six had no time to react as Lanius shoved her into the back opening of the trailer. She crouched in the corner, her eyes wide. What was he going to do to her?

But he simply drew his sword and left. Steel clashed against steel outside her hiding spot as shadows blocked the light pouring into the trailer through cracks. There was a feral scream and a thud; he must have got one of them. Six relaxed against the back wall.

He would do nothing to her. She could trust him.

Something heavy slammed into the side of the trailer, denting it, and making Six scream and jump to the other side. Dust fell from the ceiling and swirled in the bright light.

Deciding she couldn't just sit there, Six crept toward the mouth of the trailer. Lanius would be upset if she stepped out, but since when did that man tell her where to go?

Six peered around the corner to see what she could do to help, but the fight was over. Lanius stood over the fallen attacker, his dust-covered back toward her. He was what hit the trailer.

Lanius turned to the side, knelt down, and removed the helmet of his opponent. A brief emotion crossed his face – hurt; one that didn't belong on such a proud man. Did Lanius recognize this person? If he did, he certainly didn't share. The hurt look disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

"I thought I put you in there to stay safe," he said, "Why are you out here?"

"Were they dangerous ones?" Six asked, dodging his question.

"Very."

Lanius began to strip the man's armor, his expression troubled. When each section of armor was removed, he began to put it on, securing it to his leather under armor.

"What's his name?" Six asked, hoping to understand more.

The helmet came on next, shielding his face from her view.

"Whoever he was has been long gone," Lanius replied, "Let the dead rest."

He searched into his pocket underneath the metal leggings, withdrew a cigarette, lit it, and lifted the front of his helm to stick it between his lips. Tilting the cigarette upward, he tapped the hinge to shut it the helm. From the smoke coming out of the eyeholes, Six assumed the cigarette was very much intact.

"You have that down to an art," she noted.

"The Legate breathes fire."

Six laughed and followed him down the overpass toward a set of large, broken buildings. Down the way was a roadblock, and more soldiers. They patrolled their meager strip of roadway, seemingly guarding the warhead behind them. Six and Lanius stopped a few yards back, and the Courier shot the warhead with the detonator, blowing it up and taking care of the enemies.

They continued forward through the cleared roadway, careful to avoid the hole the warhead left in the overpass. Down the roadway, there was another trailer, with burning trash around it. Where there was fire, there were bound to be people. They sneaked forward to check the trailer for inhabitants.

The smell hit her long before she saw it, and with each step, it grew worse. Despite knowing better, Six made her way to the trailer to check if there were people inside.

There were people, but they certainly weren't whole people. And they certainly weren't fresh. Legs and arms hung from hooks from the ceiling; in the corner lay a pile of bare bones. Six gagged and turned away from the trailer.

"They're eating each other," she whispered.

What Lanius thought of this, she couldn't tell; the mask hid his face. He stepped through a gap in a wall of cars, his sword drawn as a deathclaw roared ahead. Two came for him; both huge even next to Lanius. Six stared after his retreating form and wondered how she could help.

Further back was another warhead, along with more deathclaws. Six detonated it, destroying the others, and distracting the ones attacking Lanius. As the lizards turned their heads, Lanius lashed out to cut their throats.

The highway was quiet again, and Six jogged forward to catch up with Lanius. He seemed no worse from the fight, save the smoke puffing out of his helmet quicker than it had before. In a few steps, the Butcher stopped, lifted the faceplate of his helm slightly, and dropped the spent cigarette butt onto the ground.

"Never found out who dared smoke around my tent," he grumbled, staring out at the highway.

"Do you think it was maybe you?" Six asked. She followed alongside him and frowned at his short 'no'.

They continued on in silence as Ed-E began to play another log. This one seemed to be about a conversation that he wasn't meant to hear – about dismantling the eyebots. The people in the log were going to kill Ed-E.

"Do you record everything around you?" Lanius asked, turning his head to the side slightly. Six didn't have to see his face to know that Lanius was giving him the side-eye.

Ed-E beeped in reply, and she figured she'd better translate for Lanius. She didn't know how she understood the bot, but she did.

"Oh-ho," Six chuckled, "I think that's a yes!"

He beeped again, revealing a dirty secret.

"No," she grumbled, "I don't want to hear your recordings of human mating calls."

"You make enough of those on your own," Lanius snorted.

Six stopped in her tracks. He did not just say that.

"There's rooms down the hallway, mister," she snorted, "so you can choose to not hear them any time."

"Maybe I like hearing them," he said.

Maybe she liked him hearing them.

The Courier's face turned red at that thought. That wasn't normal.

"Then you're a gross old man," Six declared, unwilling to let him know the truth.

"I'm not old," he groused, "I'm forty-three."

As Six thought about if Lanius was too old or not, she asked herself what exactly he was too old for. Ed-E mercifully interrupted her thoughts by playing another log. The man that cared for Ed-E, Dr. Whitley, told him to run away. From Ed-E's presence out there, it was obvious that the bot did as he was told.

"I'm glad you were saved," she smiled, "I probably would have liked this Whitley guy." She wondered what happened to Whitley, and if he was punished for letting Ed-E go.

Ed-E beeped and bobbed up and down in an affirmative, and the group continued down the interchange. The road went downhill here, until they made contact with the ground again. Six stopped, looked at her map, and confirmed that they needed to take the ground road up and around a hill. She pointed in the correct direction, and they headed up the hill, arriving at more rundown buildings. There, against the white walls of a collapsed building, was a bright red old world flag – the sign of the man who led them there.

Six heard a crunching noise to her left, and whirled around in time to shoot a soldier that attempted to sneak up on them. The area exploded in flurry of gunfire and shouting, and the Courier took cover quickly. Now armored, Lanius took off ahead, straight toward the leader of the group. The man was dressed like the Legate, and he had a chainsaw. Six hoped the Blade of the East could withstand the beating it was taking that day. As she shot soldiers that got distracted, she kept an eye on Lanius, just in case.

It was unnecessary. The Butcher disarmed his attacker and had him on the ground quickly. As he knelt down to search the man's pockets, Ed-E beeped to signal that the area was clear. Six stepped out from cover, stood back, and watched as Lanius took a coin from the man's pocket, removed his helm, and placed the coin in the fallen enemy's mouth.

Such a sentiment was a strange sight for the Courier. From everything she heard about him, Lanius had no attachment to his soldiers. She supposed this was yet another falsehood spread about him, along with the rumors that he was a terrible tyrant. Lanius was just a guy – a really big, strong guy with a massive sword.

They continued onward, toward a small building with a control panel similar to the ones they encountered in the bunker the day before. Six approached the console, attempting to figure out which button would open the bunker door to the right.

On one side of the console, there was a large, red switch. Perhaps, this opened the door? It looked important enough to do so.

Six pulled the lever and jumped back when a siren sounded. Lights all around them began to flash as the siren grew in pitch, others joining in to announce something.

The large, metallic door groaned in front of them, inching open to reveal a shiny, red-tipped warhead. This was clearly not the button Six wanted. Panicking, she tried to put the switch back, to tuck the missile back in to bed and let it sleep, but the switch was locked in place. The Courier shoved on the switch, trying to force it up as the missile began to rise into the air.

Lanius pushed her out of the way and tried to force the switch back as well, succeeding only in bending the frame of the switch.

They couldn't stop it, even as Six clawed at the console to find something to stop the missile launch.

The missile rose then tilted to the side. There was a loud hissing noise as smoke billowed from its bottom. Without warning, it flew off the frame that supported it, traveled a ways past the road, and then exploded in the air.

They stood in shock staring at the cloud of smoke hanging in the air. Ed-E began to play another log, but the Courier ignored it.

"This is evil," Lanius whispered.

Six nodded mutely.

The sirens stopped, the lights stopped flashing, and the bunker door opened. This was the trap of the man who led her out here.

He made her do it.

* * *

Another day, another stealth test of stealing files.

Vulpes crouched in the dim light of the testing facility. It was set up to look like an old high school, something he had some experience with. Abandoned schools were generally home to nests of raiders, due to their often confusing layouts. When a visitor came in seeking shelter, they often got lost in a hallway, and then ended up trapped in an ambush, as each hall had multiple entrances and exits.

He looked around for obvious layout clues. It appeared that he was in the foyer, the entrance to the test facility acting like the outside door to the high school. In front of him were cases filled with trophies, and a large, old world flag hung in the center, its stripes in tatters. Dust floated in the air, coating the floors and every surface in the building. Wherever he walked, there would be footprints – not ideal.

The loudspeaker screeched on and Vulpes cringed.

"I am your principal," the person announced, "principal Dr. Borous."

Vulpes sighed. This was the idiot.

"It has come to my attention that some of you have been propagandized by commie propaganda!" he announced, "Cyberdogs will be coming through the hallways to sniff out who among you has fallen for these lies. Also monitoring the hallways will be hall monitors. Do not leave class! Those of you who are found guilty of being commie pinkos will be sent to deathtention! Especially you, Betsy Bright! How dare you not go with me to the senior dance!"

Vulpes snorted at the doctor's ridiculousness. The rejection happened over two hundred years ago. On the bright side, however, he was informed of what to expect in the hallways.

He heard the hum of a robot to the left, and quickly ducked against the wall. A robobrain rolled by, and Vulpes took the opportunity to sneak behind its back and duck into the hallway labeled as 'G'. In the corner, to the left, was a turret, facing down the opposite end of the hall. Vulpes sneaked over to its side and hastily tore out the wires on the back to disconnect it from the system. Thankfully, there were no other turrets nearby.

Vulpes was about to duck into the room to his left, when something large rammed into him and latched onto his arm. As he tumbled to the floor, the cyberdog that tackled him held tight and thrashed in an attempt to injure him. He reached down, grabbed his boot knife, and slit the animal's throat. Blood sprayed onto the floor and the leather jacket that protected him; the dog gave another thrash then fell limp.

He stepped into the classroom behind him and approached a nearby terminal. It was locked, but with a quick check, he was able to unlock it; the password was yet another instance of 'boobs'. Searching through the menus gave him no results. The system was broken and there was no targeting data.

At least, it was worth a check. Vulpes peered into the corner and saw a closet that used shared storage between rooms. This would be safer than sneaking around in an open hallway.

The connected room was in shambles, the desks overturned and out of line. A terminal on the teacher's desk cast a faint glow in the room, illuminating a turret and a pair of cyberdogs. Vulpes made his move for the turret before he could be seen by it.

The dogs alerted immediately and ran toward him as he dove for the turret and yanked the wires out. Their barking emitted some sort of sonic waves, knocking him off balance and slamming him into the deactivated turret.

One of the dogs jumped at him, and he used the dog's momentum against it, giving it a mouth full of sharp blade, and a quick dismembering. The other cyberdog grabbed his ankle in an attempt to pull him down. He hacked at it with his blade, and only when it was dead did it release its hold.

Vulpes gingerly stepped over to the terminal at the teacher's desk. His ankle seemed to be fine, and in the glow of the terminal, he examined his boot. It had a few scrapes from the teeth, but no holes. Putting his leg down, Vulpes turned his attention to the sleeve of his jacket. This, too, had no holes, but his arm didn't feel quite right. Vulpes shrugged the jacket off, brought his arm in front of the terminal, and examined it. A ring of dark bruises was already starting around the bite area. There were no punctures, however.

Vulpes shrugged, put his arm back in the sleeve of his coat, and accessed the terminal. It was thankfully unlocked, and he was able to attain the grades for one Ritchie 'Ball Lover' Marcus. Each grade was an F-.

Rolling his eyes, Vulpes scooted the chair back and crept out of the room. The hallway was vacant, and he took the opportunity to move as quickly and quietly as possible to the large set of doors at the far end. Next to the door was a sign that labeled it as the library. There were sure to be records of some sort in the room.

Vulpes opened the door, and the speakers crackled with life.

"You are in the library!" Borous shouted, "Be quiet, and filled with 'shhh'!"

And now, everything in the library knew that someone was in it.

Vulpes didn't have time to grumble as a lobotomite rounded the corner from one of the many rows of bookshelves. He grabbed a nearby cleaver and slit the man's throat before he could make a sound.

Creeping along the outer corners of the library, he came across a terminal. This one had more information he needed to take to finish the test; he wondered, however, what significance a high school student's schedule truly had. Shaking his head, he made his way out of the library via the teacher's lounge. Little of what he had done in the past few days made sense.

A pair of cyberdogs waited for him, but he was able to take them out easier than the others before. The best way to handle them was to get to them first. Without a turret nearby, this was easily accomplished.

Vulpes peered into the hall, saw that it was clear, and crept his way to a nearby stairwell. He didn't have an opportunity to glance into the stairwell, but heard nothing. Assuming the way was clear, he entered the stairwell, only to run immediately into a lobotomite.

Vulpes used the close encounter to stab the man then slit his throat. Dumping the body on the floor, he exhaled the stench of body odor from his mouth. He didn't want to get that close to a lobotomite again.

Stepping around the spreading pool of blood on the floor, he made his way up the stairs, through the door, and across the top floor of the library. In an office to the left was a terminal, and with a quick hack into the system, Vulpes found a way to deactivate the turret control system.

He glanced behind him to the nearby storage closet, opened the door, and rummaged around for anything that could be of use. Raiding the first aid kit on the wall, Vulpes took every last stimpack he could find. In a situation like this, he didn't give a damn about using a chem or two. And, as far as stimpacks were concerned, he usually didn't care regardless.

Checking his supplies one last time, Vulpes crept out of the office, and out of the library.

"Down the hall is ball storage," Borous announced, "for jocks, who like balls. Like Ritchie Marcus. Hear that? Ritchie likes balls."

Vulpes sighed and took the hall toward ball storage. Borous had two hundred years' worth of pent up anger toward people who upset him when he was a child. It seems like all they did was tease him; he wasn't hurt, wasn't touched in any inappropriate way. His attitude was ridiculous, no matter what way one looked at it.

In front of ball storage stood two cyberdogs. They both saw him at the same time, and tripped over each other to get to him. He took the opportunity to take care of them, and then slipped into the ballroom. There, at a terminal, were the final records that he needed to end the test.

It seemed like this was meant to be the end; a bunker door inside the room opened up. Vulpes stepped in and made his way down the winding metal hallway. He was clearly out of the testing area, but not quite sure where to go. Vulpes considered backtracking, but thought better of it when the speakers turned on.

"You got to the Residential test!" Borous cheered, "by the way, this is Borous again, really this time. We never thought you would get this far."

Vulpes knew he would succeed; he was made for stealth. Passing into a room, he saw a holographic display of the cyberdog gun the Think Tank handed him earlier. Though curious about the weapon, he didn't want to risk bringing a gun with a brain attached to it on an important mission. Vulpes was much more confident in his beautiful, non-sentient revolver. As he rummaged around in the drawers in the office and came across more rounds of ammunition for said revolver, he knew it was fate. Vulpes loved that gun like a friend.

Leaving the room, he crossed into a hallway and then into an observation room. Vulpes peered through a sheet of one-way glass at a classroom of cyberdogs; this facility was still creating them, centuries later. It could explain why Denver and other areas were overrun with the dogs. He continued onward, toward the residential test.

"The residential test," Klein mused, "wasn't that shut down for some reason?"

Vulpes sighed as he took out a protectron in the hallway. Of course, the test was dangerous. Of course, there was something wrong; and, of course, he had to go through the test to get a technology to get his damn brain back.

"Gabe!" Borous exclaimed, "My precious pet, Gabe! You're about to have a visitor, Gabe. Please don't eat the visitor, boy!"

Given that Borous created cazadores and nightstalkers, Vulpes was sure that whatever Gabe was, it would be very bad.

"Gabe would bark and bite at any visitors that came by," Borous sighed, "so that's why I replaced his legs with spare parts and gave him psycho-laced dog chow."

So, Gabe was a cyberdog. Vulpes felt more prepared, and knew he could take care of the situation. Or at least, he hoped so.

He heard shuffling behind him and wheeled around, ready to strike out at the intruder. His eyes met Crassius' and Vulpes lowered his machete.

"Ave," the praetorian greeted, "I overheard them through the speakers. You should not go alone."

Vulpes nodded in agreement. He didn't want to admit needing help, but he knew better than to be a fool and charge on ahead.

They wound their way through the hallway. It looped around to return to the terminal that started the first test. Vulpes selected the residential test from the menu, and waited as the building rumbled. The bunker door in front of them opened to reveal a disheveled, dirty yard with small houses. Vulpes didn't have time to ponder the mechanics of the rooms switching before him; there was a vicious animal somewhere in front of them.

"I'm sneaking in with you," Crassius murmured, "I don't like how any of this sounds."

Vulpes agreed with a silent nod, and the pair stepped into the testing area. The bunker door shut behind them, leaving them in the dimly lit area. It was in shambles; houses were half-collapsed, while the lawn had holes scattered about.

"Now let the intruder have the sonic emitter schematics," Borous said, "Klein wants it. Let him dig it up wherever you buried it."

It was then that the ferocious Gabe appeared. He slunk out of his doghouse, his tail held high. The cyberdog ran straight for the intruders, and Vulpes knew exactly what Gabe would do when he reached them.

Crassius stepped forward, axe in hand. The dog lunged at the Praetorian at the same time that the axe arced downward. Gabe's body fell to the ground, his head flying through the air to land in the dirt feet away. Vulpes blinked and stared at the two severed halves.

"That was anti-climactic," he snorted.

The praetorian cracked a rare smile, chuckled, and put his axe away. Together, they began to take a look around the testing area. Vulpes tipped a palette away from a house, only to find nothing. Sighing, he picked up a nearby shovel. They'd have to dig up the holes to find the tape.

"Oh no!" Borous exclaimed, "Gabe! His atomic core! It's timed to explode at an imprecise time at his death!"

Vulpes' jaw dropped. They had to find that sonic emitter holotape.

"Dig it up, quickly!"

The Think Tank began a countdown, but Vulpes didn't trust it. They were talking between numbers, and even Mobius joined in.

Crassius grabbed another shovel, and helped Vulpes dig up as many dirt mounds as possible. The countdown continued to get smaller, until there was no time left. Vulpes dove for one of the houses, just as the core exploded in a ball of fire. Dirt and rocks pelted him from behind, and then stopped.

Vulpes stood slowly and looked around at the damage the bomb left. Most of the buildings were on fire and crumbling, and the wall of the building closest to where Gabe's body fell was covered in a greasy, black smear. Shaking his head, Vulpes called out to Crassius.

There was no reply.

Vulpes stepped through the singed grass toward the building he last saw Crassius near. The roof sagged in, and in places, the supports were completely broken. Carefully, he began to pick through the rubble. If he moved something wrong, the entire house could collapse. Vulpes inched a beam to the side and swore when the house began to groan.

The collapsed wall next to him moved up; it was Crassius. Vulpes exhaled in relief as he checked the praetorian for injuries, and it appeared that besides a few scrapes, he was just fine.

"Let's get that tape," Vulpes sighed.

He trudged over to his abandoned shovel and began to poke around in the dirt, wondering if his brain was truly worth all of this trouble, if he was functioning fine without it.

His friendship, however, was worth it. They had to fix Marcus.

* * *

There was something off about this woman.

She wasn't rumored to be nice or understanding. And she certainly wasn't supposed to be a conversationalist. Ulysses supposed that a life on the road could change someone; Vegas could especially change a person.

Anything could change a person, and he was no exception. Ulysses often wondered why he stayed around for so long to serve the Legion, after what happened to his people.

The service of his people was repaid in blood. After Arizona was conquered, after the Dam was discovered, after everything his people had done for Caesar, they were betrayed. Caesar sent the kid after them, and the kid brought an assortment of the Legion's warriors with him. He couldn't take them on his own; he probably couldn't take even a single one on his own. His tribe had been brought down by a pimpled adolescent.

Back then, Vulpes was just beginning to learn how to be one of the Frumentarii. Even though he wasn't charming, even though every sentence seemed to be a second away from one of his fabled temper tantrums, he was surprisingly good at making people do everything he said. Caesar's attention was turning him into a brat.

With more training, Vulpes became clever, charming, and all the more detestable. And as Vulpes trained, he grew in rank, until he became head of the Frumentarii.

Vulpes was cunning; he knew that Ulysses hated him. But he always knew the perfect thing to say to keep him around, to make him feel like a valued member of their organization.

Vulpes Inculta. Ulysses hoped he never saw the damn liar again. And if he did?

He'd have no clue where to begin with doing terrible things to him.

Shaking his head, Ulysses turned to better thoughts, though still rather unsavory.

His conversations with the Courier didn't go as he'd hoped, and he wondered if he had the same person. The woman that was supposed to be there was a sharp-tongued shrew, and instead, he found himself conversing with an innocent, doe-eyed girl. Then again, the whole thing could be an act; she was known for this as well.

The muscle behind the Courier watched her carefully – intently, even – and if the rumors were true, she'd be screwing her help in no time, if she wasn't already. The man seemed too old for her, but even through Ed-e's fogged camera lens, the attraction was obvious. She was supposed to be a lone wolf, however. There were too many inconsistencies between what he knew and what he observed. It was a puzzle he did not understand.

He waited as she picked her way through Hopeville toward him. The explosion not minutes before rocked the Divide, the same as it had years ago. Destruction and change followed this woman. Ulysses welcomed either.


	12. Chapter 12

A/n: Hello everyone! I wanted to update before I go out of country for a week, so here you go :)

* * *

The building in which they stood was crooked, the floors and ceiling slanted at a strange angle. Six was glad that the rubber soles of her boots were still good; they helped her keep her balance. Still, the whole place felt off, and it wasn't just the crooked floors. Those creepy tunneley things were all over the place.

Six kept her machete and pistol both drawn at the same time, just in case. She could shoot left handed well enough, and saved her machete for her strong hand.

"We shouldn't be here," Lanius murmured.

"Why?"

"Besides the fact that the building could collapse at any moment?" he snorted, "there are spirits here with unfinished business. We should leave them be."

"And those creepy things," Six whispered.

She heard a chuckle underneath his mask and fought the urge to smack him. Those creatures were creepy, and he was not making it any better. A part of the Courier wanted some way to get even with him.

They walked up the stairs, rounded the corner, and ran into more of the horrible things. Thankfully, it didn't seem like they had been noticed yet.

Six ran forward and stabbed one in the back, while Lanius took care of the other two. The creatures were dead in seconds, but it did little to ease the Courier's disgust. She yanked viciously on her machete to get it out of the animal's tough hide.

Down the hallway, there appeared to be a heavy door. Perhaps it could lead outside? Six bounded forward across the tilted floor to see.

The handle squeaked as she twisted it, and the door opened to reveal the waning afternoon sun. They were finally outside again; there would be no tunneling creatures out here. Lanius followed behind her to leave the building.

From her point of view, Six assumed that they were on a rooftop of sorts. She couldn't see how high up they were, however; the roof was wide, and angled in the same way the floor had been. The Courier stepped forward to get a better look, but Ed-E stopped her.

The bot hovered out in front of her again, his spines clacking together; the stranger was contacting them again.

"Hopeville, High Road, Ashton," he recalled, "nothing but small cracks compared to the road carved ahead. Before you is the edge of the Divide, and what you have done. It is the history that you burned into the earth, what you brought to the people here."

"What happened here?" she asked. She couldn't imagine hurting so many people. There had to be a mistake.

"You delivered a package," he replied, "it had markings matching those in the Divide – military markings form some place the Bear had savaged in the west. Maybe seeing those markings on it reminded you of home, and made you carry it."

"I don't remember this package," Six insisted, "I don't remember this place. I don't remember you."

"It was from the West, from deep in the NCR," he explained, "Whether made by them, or not, it came here by your hands. It was a device – a detonator – one the likes I had never seen. You carried that thing to the Divide. I know because I followed you and watched it. You brought it here, to the community you built, and you are responsible for what happened after when the device opened and began speaking. The Divide spoke back, and the missiles beneath the ground exploded. The Divide became a graveyard."

"I'm not responsible for this," she cried, "there's no way I could have known. I'm telling you that I don't remember."

Explaining it again in different words wasn't helping, and this idiot wasn't listening. She had no memory of any of this. Lanius shifted behind her, and she wished she could just have someone listen to her and understand her and let her know that everything would be ok, even if it wouldn't.

God, she missed Boone. Not even her husband would lie to her like that to make her feel better.

"If you had been there when it happened," the man said, "if you had seen the Divide break, you would have known. You carry death wherever you go. If the Mojave doesn't know it yet, they will soon. You can do it again, and you already proved it with what happened in Ashton."

"I didn't intend to set that off!" she insisted, "I didn't do any of that stuff."

That was him, making it impossible to open the bunker door until she launched the missile. What kind of asshole was this guy? How many times did she have to tell him that she literally had no idea what was going on?

"Of course it was your choice," he scoffed, "You could have stayed in the Mojave, but you chose to come. You couldn't let it be. You've always been restless and had to know the why of it."

"Are you angry that this explosion undermined the Legion's plans?" she asked. "It was an accident."

"Accident?" he scoffed, "Ignorance is a choice. The chip – a choice."

"So did the explosion kill your family?" she asked, "your wife and children?" Because then she could understand why he was so ridiculous about the whole thing.

"My family lives," he said, "its history died long ago and fell under the shadow of the Bull. No, this isn't about family. It's about blood shared by acts, not by chance."

Six threw her hands up in exasperation. There was no damn reason that he had to be like this, then.

"So you wanted me to come here," she said, "Now what?"

"The road is almost over," he replied, "the way ahead and below leads to the heart of the Divide. There you and I will have an ending to things."

Good. Then she could tell him exactly what she thought of him being such a jerk to her for no reason. And God help her, she didn't want to just shoot him and get it over with; she wanted to beat the living hell out of him, then maybe 'have an ending to things'.

Sighing, the Courier took a deep breath to steady herself. Vulpes was rubbing off on her in a bad way.

Figuring she ought to get going, Six crept toward the edge of the building. Below, there was an overhang of a crumbling building that shaded two soldiers as they napped. There were also two warheads around the area, and it looked like she needed to get them to open at least one pathway.

She then looked down and cringed. It was a long way to the bottom, and they had a bent tower to use as a pathway. Still, it was better than nothing, and it looked sturdy enough.

Behind her, Lanius approached the edge of the building. As soon as he was within sight of the ground, he scrambled away from the edge and sat down, scooting backward. Ed-E beeped and hovered lower, placing his spines on Lanius in a steadying motion.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

There was no reply aside from labored breathing. Lanius inched his way backward until his back was against the door to the underground. The Courier sat down next to him and gently reached up to open the hinge on his helm. His face was ashen, as if he'd seen a ghost or something.

"Have you ever been so high off the ground?" he asked, refusing to look at the edge of the building.

Six tilted her head to the side in thought. There weren't really tall buildings anywhere, save the Lucky 38, and even then, the cocktail lounge didn't have a view that allowed people to look directly at the ground. But this height? It didn't really scare her; that darned scaffolding just looked a bit dangerous.

"I have the feeling I've been higher," she shrugged, "Why? Are you scared?"

"Never," Lanius scoffed, "we should just go back inside the building to find a better way down."

The Courier knew he was lying.

"If there was another way, we would have found it going through the building," she shrugged.

"We should check," he insisted, "We could have missed something."

Six closed her eyes and rested her head against his arm. There was no way that either of them missed anything; they were both very observant, especially Lanius. She turned her head to look up at him and sighed; he wouldn't look at her.

"Look at me," she said.

He didn't.

Six reached up to cup the side of his face with her palm, and he flinched.

"Look at me," she repeated, gently pulling to direct him to look at her. Even as his head turned, he was looking at her forehead and not her eyes.

"Are you scared of heights?" she asked.

Lanius closed his eyes and let his head thunk against the door. Apparently, he was.

"There's guys down there," she mused, "gotta get them then we can take our time going down."

With that in mind, Six stood, brushed herself off, and made her way back to the edge. She drew her pistol and shot at the guys, taking them down in three shots. The Courier congratulated herself at getting it right at such a great distance and turned back to her companion.

"They're gone now," she announced.

Lanius continued to sit against the door and shook his head. After a moment of sitting, he slowly stood and made his way over to where Six waited. He shut the hinge on his mask before edging his way to the scaffold.

"You think this will hold, Ed-E?" she asked. The bot beeped affirmatively, and Six translated for Lanius, just to make sure he knew it would be okay.

He stopped in front of the scaffold and shook his head. Sighing, Six stepped forward and grabbed his hand. They had to get down the side of this building. The Courier tugged until Lanius put his foot on their only way down.

The first few steps were slow and shaky, and Ed-E hovered out to the side to provide a visual railing for them.

"You're hurting my hand," Six mumbled, and the Butcher relaxed his grip. But he still wasn't holding on right; it gave each step she took a wobble. This was dangerous.

"Don't push me, or we'll both fall."

He seized up in terror and mis-stepped, running into her back. Six braced her arm against the crumbling side of the building and swore at him.

"What did I tell you?" she hissed, "now, stop."

They were close to the end, and in a few steps, Six was back on solid ground. As Ed-E began to play another log, Lanius nearly mowed her over to get into the stairwell in front of them.

Sighing, Six assessed the situation. They could take the long way and go down the stairs, or take the short way and go down more scaffolding. Her partner was already making his way down the stairs, so the Courier gave in and took the long way. Sensing her discomfort, Ed-E entertained her with another log.

This time, it was a boy saying goodbye to the bot. It seemed that in his travels to Navarro, he was picked up by a family. But the family was only a stop on the way; Ed-E left them behind to do what Dr. Whitley told him.

"You're dedicated," Six nodded, "you gave up your family for your mission. I admire your strength."

Now that she was married, she knew that she would never be able to give up the things she had a second time. Six hated herself for it.

She caught up to Lanius, who stood in front of a hole in the wall. Just a step outside of the hole was more scaffold, and no other way down.

"I don't like this," he grumbled, staring at the rusted metal.

"Well," Six scoffed, "welcome to every day of my life since I woke up."

This time, she wasn't going to hold his hand. The Courier stepped out onto the scaffolding and made her way down it. She breathed a sigh of relief at her renewed sense of balance and sent a glance back to Lanius. He followed shakily behind her, but was definitely less wobbly than before.

"You're doing better!" she cheered.

"Shut up."

"No, it's a good thing!" Six insisted.

They made their way down the old, rusted scaffold, and back into the building. After a quick wind down the stairs, they were safely on the ground. Six passed through the broken doorway at the bottom and froze.

There were Legionaries there – at least a dozen – and they were all staring at her, ready to attack.

Lanius rounded the corner and drew his sword. The Legionaries hesitated; some lowered their weapons slowly.

"What are you degenerates staring at?" he barked, "either challenge me or stand aside!"

This made them reach a decision. They all lowered their weapons and bowed before him. Shrugging, Six supposed that it turned out better than she figured it would. But this sudden recognition of their Legate could come at a price. Would the stranger end up recognizing Lanius?

They stepped out in the clearing and passed the soldiers as they pleased.

"I should kill them for knowing what happened," Lanius frowned.

"And who would they tell?" Six chided, "would they tell the deathclaws?"

She gave him a smile to let him know that she was joking around, and he seemed to relax somewhat.

"You can't tell anyone," he said.

The Courier spun on her heel and began to walk backwards to look at him.

"What'll you give me for it?" Six teased, though she did feel a bit serious.

Lanius grumbled under his breath, but she didn't catch what he said. She craned her head to the side and asked him to repeat it.

"I'll have to think of something," he groused. It didn't sound a thing like what he mumbled, but she'd let it slide.

They continued toward the marker on her pip-boy, until they crossed a path blocked by a warhead. As Six aimed at it to unblock the way, she wondered how the guy that dragged her out here was able to make it to the end without the detonator.

Perhaps, he found a different path, and made her set off all these warheads. Sure enough, after the warhead was destroyed, the way was open again.

Without soldiers to shoot at them, it was easy to go as they pleased. They wound their way through collapsed buildings, until they came across another tunnel. To the left, Six saw a warhead on the ground. She aimed at it with the detonator and watched it heat up. Maybe, it would open another path.

It exploded in the distance, and Lanius shook his head.

"Was that one necessary?"

"Well, I did it just in case," Six replied.

"In case what?"

"In case it could open up another way so we don't have to go through a creepy tunnel," she admitted.

The Courier looked down at her pip-boy and saw that the tunnel was still the only way.

"I know your secret," Lanius chuckled, "sounds like we are even."

Six crossed her arms and gave him a glare.

"I don't care who knows," she snorted, "at least my fear is rational."

She stomped forward to the entrance to the tunnel, just to prove that she was brave. Six ignored the shaking of her hand, and the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. As she led the way into the tunnel, Ed-E began to play another log; it was sweet how he was trying to distract her.

The log sounded like he was traveling. This was part of his journey to Navarro. All of a sudden, there was shouting in the log; Six jumped at the sound of a loud gunshot. The log faded out into static.

She turned to look at the bot in awe.

"Sounds like that was a .308 round," she said, "that shot would have destroyed most robots your size."

Ed-E bobbed up and down in agreement.

"Well no wonder you didn't make it yet," she marveled, "you're so lucky to be alive."

"We should keep moving" Lanius interrupted.

Six shook her head and continued onward. She hadn't realized that she stopped. Perhaps, her brain wanted her to stay back. The door to the building in front of her certainly didn't look inviting. It did, however, have the stranger's old world flag on it.

Six turned the handle on the door and wondered how the heck this guy was able to get inside all these places without the detonator. Or, did he move the warheads to block things? And how would he move them all by himself?

No, he must have found a sneaky way to get in. She imagined Vulpes did the same thing, back when he was an agent. And he definitely would have known how to get around these tunnels. Lanius certainly didn't. Sighing, she figured that some company was better than no company. Lanius' staight-into-the-fray fighting style didn't match hers at all, but with Ed-E playing the distraction, they had a decent set of tactics going on.

The Courier rounded the corner of the hallway, and peered down the next hall filled with rubble. It descended into another tunnel. Skeletons lined the entrance to the tunnel, and Six knew that there would be more of 'them' down there.

Swallowing her fear, the Courier led the way down into the tunnel. It bottomed out into a cavern with many burrows in the ground, and her suspicions were confirmed as she saw a group of the tunneling creatures huddled together.

She crept forward to try to get the jump on them, but she was spotted.

Chaos broke out as a swarm of them erupted from the ground. Lanius and Ed-E charged forward, while Six fought them off and backed away to get a good shooting distance. With her partners as a distraction, she was able to pick a bunch of them off before they got wise.

She heard scraping behind her, and whirled around with her machete, putting the weight of her blade into her spin just like Vulpes showed her. A creature met her blade and fell to the ground instantly, spraying hot blood to the side as it bled out.

Other nearby creatures saw her as a threat and dashed forward to attack. She had no ammo left in her clip, and no time to reload. Holstering Maria, Six charged forward with her machete. She was sick of fighting these nasty things, and sick of wandering around in this awful place.

The tunnelers didn't stand a chance against her anger. One by one, they fell to her machete. Just when she figured they were dwindling out, a pack of them burst from a hole in the ground. One of them looked different from the others; it was taller, and had many more glowing spikes on its head. This had to be the queen of the hive. Its eyes met the Courier's, and it let out a piercing shriek.

"No, you!" Six shouted. She charged forward and her blade met claws, the force of the blow sending her reeling back.

Six lashed out, kicking the creature in the knee before going at its throat with her blade. She barely hit her target; her blade drew a thin line of blood across the queen's neck. This enraged the animal and it swiped again with a similar hit. Six anticipated the blow, dodged it, and plunged her blade deep into the animal's side. She didn't wait for it to catch its balance and struck forward again as the queen staggered around.

Soon, the fighting stopped, and Six looked around for more enemies. Not used to such close combat, she panted in exertion. She needed to do more training.

A chuckle broke through the sound of blood roaring in her ears.

"You fight like a man," Lanius noted.

"I fight like a pissed off woman," Six groused.

She flicked the blood off of her machete, tucked it away, and began to reload her spare clips as she stepped over the dead bodies of the tunneling creatures. Six hoped this was the last time she saw the annoying, ugly things.

The Courier stomped forward through the tunnel, ignoring the horde of dead tunnelers they just killed. She really wanted to get to the end of this, find out what this guy wanted, and get done with it all.

Sensing her stress, Ed-E began to play another log as she found a set of stairs. The boy who was part of Ed-E's adopted family noticed that he was gone, and told his parents.

But how would Ed-E be there to record it? Last she heard, he had been shot. Unless –

"Tune in next week for the adventures of Ralphie the Eyebot!" the log finished.

Six stumbled forward up the stairs.

"This was a pre-war kids show?" She asked, "This wasn't real?"

The bot bobbed up and down in excitement. Shaking her head, Six figured she might not have understood the robot as well as she assumed. Still, he was enthusiastic.

"Come on, Ed-E!" she cheered, "We have to fly far and fly fast if we want to get to the end of the Divide!"

She took off, making Lanius have to jog after her. He grumbled about her being insane, but she didn't care. If Six didn't keep positive, then she would actually go insane. Ed-E played a war rally song as they bounded up the stairs, and burst through the door at the top.

Six stopped and stared at the place they came to. They stood on a ledge inside a huge crack in the earth. Old, scrap buildings lined the bottom of the crack, while others lined the sides of the canyon walls. Water flowed into a pond nearby, and burst pipes spat water into the mud. Many of the shacks lining the canyon were fallen in. To her left, a snapped laundry line lay in the dirt, a pile of forgotten childrens' clothing marking the grave of the once prosperous community.

She swallowed heavily as the weight of what happened hit her. This was Freeside, Westside, or even Goodsprings. And it was dead.

Six would have never done this on purpose, but it did little to ease her conscience. She couldn't fix this.

Ed-E floated out in front of her, and the Courier waited for the strange man to contact her and berate her again. Sure enough, Ed-E's spines picked up his signal.

"Thought that explosion would have been your work" he said, "I knew you'd survive. You don't need to go any farther; you brought what I need – the machine from the Hopeville silo. Now the signal's strong enough, and I can call it to me."

No.

"Ed-E's not going anywhere!" She cried.

"You gave it a name," he said. "What was it to you? A companion? A slave? Weapon? None of that compares to its primary function. It's a messenger like us, and it shares our history. If you feel its loss, you could have gone back home and none of this would have happened."

"You're not taking him from me." she insisted. Six had enough taken from her.

"The machine you brought is mine now," he said, "I'll reduce it to parts and give it just enough to leave it functioning so it knows what's happening. The giants here will listen to the device inside it, and I'll bring it to your home and let it burn, just like you burned the Divide."

Ed-E sparked as the man revealed his sinister plan. He was going to steal Ed-E to blow up her home. Six called out to the robot and begged him to fight it, but it was no use. Ed-E flew off toward the mysterious man. She turned around to look at Lanius, and was met again with his impassive metal mas

"You heard what he's going to do," Six cried, trying to keep the frantic tone out of her voice.

"He shall not," Lanius insisted. He walked with purpose in the direction that Ed-E flew off to and hopped over the short ledge to the canyon below, his sword drawn for battle.

Six swallowed her fear and followed after. She didn't know what home she had before she was shot, but Vegas was her home, and its people were her people. It was the city she was born in; it was the city she met her husband in, and it was the city she would die in.

Neither of them were going to let the bombs be used for evil again.

* * *

Before his face was destroyed, Joshua Graham used to look like he could be related to him. There were whispers among the Legion that Vulpes was his bastard son – rumors that got him in a bit of trouble after the first battle of Hoover Dam. Caesar silenced those rumors quickly, and soon, many forgot the face of the Burned Man along with his name.

Vulpes didn't know why the thought came to him as he and Crassius made their way to the Think Tank's central chamber. Perhaps, it was a longing for familiarity? Regardless, they had all the technologies. Now, they could confront Klein and get their brains back in order. From there, he could get a detachment of securitrons sent to the crashed satellite, so they could bring it back to the Lucky 38 for further study. Perhaps, he and Arcade could unlock its secrets. He was rather adept at electronics.

The elevator opened, and the pair made their way up the ramp to the Think Tank. They stopped in the center of the room. One by one, the scientists turned to see what news the visitors had to say.

"We have everything," Vulpes smirked, "and we got it quickly."

There was a moment of silence as Dr. Klein turned to look between his fellow scientists.

"What? You did?" he awed, "Your survival, let alone your success, barely registered on my projections. Now all I need to do is check my registration databank, as Mobius is always filling it up with his psychotic calls."

Another long pause.

"Oh, yes there's the schematics, just like you said," Klein admitted, "how truthful."

"Do these technologies have the information you need?" Vulpes asked.

"Ah, yes," Klein stammered, "hm, yes, ah – hm"

"Wrong answer," Vulpes frowned. He was long past getting tired of this.

"No, I mean, yes," Klein said, "I just need to examine these technologies for a moment. They're extremely advanced, you know?"

Vulpes sighed in exasperation. The great Dr. Klein didn't even know what he was looking at. It would be funny, if his friend's life didn't depend on figuring this out.

"Do you even know what these technologies do?" Vulpes chastised.

"I know how these technologies work," Klein replied, "of course I know."

"If you remember," he continued, "we clearly described them in abstract contradictory statements before. Why would we do that if we weren't certain on how to use them? Uhm, so let me... hm, a bit... I'll figure how –"

"Would the suit's dampening abilities allow me to sneak into the Forbidden Zone?" Vulpes drawled.

"I suppose it could," Klein remarked, "if it could be quiet for more than a few moments; always talking, always touching things! It does have an interface disruptor weave against electronics, like the Forbidden Zone door."

Vulpes crossed his arms. Apparently, he could have been a scientist in the old world, even without formal education.

"Of course!" Klein exclaimed, "the override sequence to open the Forbidden Zone door is hidden in the schematics! Well, not actually hidden; it's right there, behind the programming equivalent of coffee stains. It's embedded in what seems to be recursive code. It's badly commented there, and there. And, oh, null pointers. Very sloppy, Mobius."

"You see," he continued, "by using the antenna to boost the sonic emitter's frequency, and the stealth suit to bypass the Forbidden Zone lock, yes, that could work. Was that my plan? It must have been. Sometimes I truly surprise myself. The door is open, and now, Mobius will get his!"

"Don't these items seem more biologically focused than that, though?" Vulpes asked.

"Biological?" Klein snorted, "ridiculous. I mean, technically, these items could all be used to put you back together once you have your brain. But for now, they can be used in the name of aggression. The door should be unsealed. Now, instead of being subjected to threats, we can now send an equally threatening message to Mobius. That message is Science! Deliver this message, and Big MT shall be freed from Mobius' reign of terror!"

Vulpes stood in silence, waiting for more. "Science" wasn't really a good message.

"Erm," Klein, "you can go now. That's your cue."

Shrugging, Vulpes turned to Crassius and walked with him back toward the Sink. Klein's little slip-up about the true nature of the technologies gave him hope that they would be able to repair the damage done to Marcus' and his brains. It was all he needed to renew his determination.

They rode the elevator down to the bottom of the Think Tank and stepped outside. There, in the distance, was the glowing red of the Forbidden Zone.

Mobius knew they were coming; as soon as they rounded the corner of the Think Tank, they ran into a pack of roboscorpions. There was a certain technique to fighting them, and now that they had it down, facing the machines wasn't nearly as difficult as it had been when they started.

He wondered if Mobius suspected what they were going to the Forbidden Zone for. And, if so, what if he destroyed the brains already?

Vulpes swallowed and shook his head. There was no use thinking that far. And, he certainly wasn't going to share the thought with Crassius.

They continued toward the Forbidden Zone, destroying hordes of roboscorpions in the process. Mobius absolutely knew they were coming for him, knew that they could get in, and was doing his damnedest to stop them.

But they could not be stopped.

Soon, they were in a large canyon, standing in front of the Forbidden Zone dome. The roboscorpion guardians in front of the open dome door fell like their kin, exploding in showers of parts.

Crassius glanced around at the dome and the canyon around as Vulpes edged closer to a glowing red crystal that jutted out from the ground.

"This place is sinister," he frowned.

Vulpes nodded, too preoccupied with his inspection to speak. What was this thing? He had never seen such a large, sparkling gem before. Vulpes had the notion that he could take a modest one back to Six, but quickly squashed the idea. It was likely made of chemicals.

Still curious, he drew the cleaver he kept from the library, stepped back, and threw it at one of the crystals. The blade imbedded itself into the rock, and Vulpes tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

"What's that about?" Crassius asked.

"That's what I want to know," Vulpes replied.

The crystal began to hiss and give off a gas as the blade began to warp and melt down the side of the crystal. Shrugging, Vulpes turned to his companion.

"Good to know," he noted. The praetorian nodded mutely in reply.

Vulpes stepped under the large awning that the stealth suit's code dampened, and opened the bunker door that lead to Dr. Mobius. They stepped inside, and the door closed behind them with a slam.

It was dark; they'd been expected, and there was likely a trap waiting for them.

The underused lights flickered on inside the dome to reveal exactly where they were.

It was a huge warehouse, complete with a gigantic roboscorpion with pincers the size of a bull brahmin. Vulpes flattened back against the door and frantically looked for a way upstairs that would be quiet. His .44 magnum would be no match against this thing.

But it hadn't seen them yet. If he could just sneak upstairs and find a console to disable it, then perhaps–

Vulpes' jaw dropped in horror as Crassius let out a war cry and charged it with his axe. The mechanized monster awakened with a rusty groan and readied its claws. His mind screamed every obscenity he ever learned, the thoughts boiling down to a single, primal word that had no meaning.

The praetorian jumped out of the way of the snapping claws, clambered up on top of the robot's head, and began to hack away at the various control panels on its back with his axe. It seemed that the roboscorpion wasn't programmed to react to something having the balls to take it head on and beat it into submission; it fired beams from its tail all around the room in a damage-induced frenzy.

After a minute of continued beating, the scorpion began to spark in its tell-tale self destruct sequence. Crassius leaped off of its back, ran over to where Vulpes stood plastered to the door, and dragged him to shelter behind an old crate.

It exploded within seconds, dropping flaming bits and screws all over the warehouse. Vulpes felt a hand on his shoulder, giving him a friendly shake.

"We make a good team," the praetorian nodded, "you do the sneaking and talking things, and I do the heavy fighting. You're not made to fight something like this."

He had no reply. The man took out a gigantic roboscorpion with an axe, by himself. Who in the hell was made to fight a gigantic roboscorpion?

"Are you okay?" Crassius asked, "it didn't shoot you with its tail, did it?"

Vulpes snapped out of his stupor.

"I'm waiting for my testicles to stop hiding in my body cavity," he drawled.

He collapsed backward onto the floor to catch his breath.

"We have brains to get," Crassius said.

Vulpes shook his head, slowly stood, and took one more glance at the flaming heap of rubble that had once been the roboscorpion. Writing it off as just another strange thing he'd live to tell the tale about – minus his fear – he lead them up the stairs to Mobius' lair.

His hand hovered over the button to open the door, and he gave a glance back to Crassius. His companion nodded, signaling that he should open the door. Whatever was on the other side of that door, they would be ready to administer justice.

The door opened with a hiss, and Vulpes stepped forward onto a ramp lit with red lights. When they reached the top, a room similar to the Think Tank greeted them. A single, disheveled bot floated around the large, dusty room, and through the dim lighting, Vulpes knew that everything wasn't as it seemed.

The presumed Dr. Mobius turned around, finally noticing the intruders. A crack ran down the center of one of his monitors, rendering it useless. The remaining, working monitors were streaked with grease, grime, and a strange white powder.

"Dr. Klein has a message," Vulpes announced, "Science."

Whether Mobius registered this, he couldn't say.

"Er, hello there," the bot greeted, "You are there, aren't you? Forgive my confusion; it's hard to tell these days. You seem familiar, somehow. You're here for your brain, perhaps? It's just up there; such a nice brain, very young, bright. Kind of hard to see you. Could you walk into my left, er, right FOV cone?"

Vulpes scooted to the right so he could be seen.

"Ah, yes!" Mobius exclaimed, "That's better. I can see you now. Such a nice young man."

"Is that better?" Vulpes asked, keeping his guard up. He couldn't be sure if the 'frail, old man' personality was an act.

"Depth perception is a problem with this old monitor of mine," he replied, "it went black a while ago. That's old age for you. I could get it fixed, but then the flying tortises were the worst. Would you like a mentat, young man?"

"This isn't right," Crassius interjected.

Vulpes nodded in agreement. If the Think Tank was to be believed, Mobius would be immediately hostile. He had his reservations, but this was quite unexpected.

Mobius turned to show them his work. Chalk equations spilled over a chalkboard and onto the walls and floor, converging in a maddening cluster of indecipherable characters.

"Had to use the wall and floors to transcribe equations," Mobius admitted, "though I've lost track of where they started and ended."

"You aren't exactly what I was expecting," Vulpes frowned.

"Really?" he replied, "that implies preconceived notions, theories, and a hypothesis about this meeting. Please, extrapolate. What I supposed to be like? After all, it might be worth a cognitive realignment if your theoretical Mobius is better than I."

He didn't want to tell the old bot that he was supposed to be hostile. It could give Mobius a cognitive realignment, and frankly, he didn't have the heart to put him down. He figured he ought to get to the heart of why they were there, and leave hostilities out.

"I need my brain back," Vulpes sighed, "and a part of a brain that belongs to my friend."

"Do you?" Mobius asked, "You seem to be fine without it. And, does it even want to go back with you? Maybe you should ask it. It's quite independent; has all manner of opinions. Tell you what; I'll leave it up to your brain. If it wants to go, then fine. If not, well, you should respect its wishes."

"And what about the part of the brain?" Vulpes asked.

"Well, a half brain definitely isn't a whole brain, so it doesn't have an opinion that a whole brain has," Mobius conceded, "So you can have that brain part back. Be careful with it."

The bot handed a container to him, and Vulpes looked it over. The small ball of floating meat inside looked like a section of a brain, so at least Mobius still knew what it was.

"You don't seem aggressive," Crasius interjected, "Why would you broadcast threats to the Think Tank?"

Vulpes winced at the bad question. There was a reason the man's job involved killing things without speaking to them.

"Oh, I was probably tripping hard on psycho when I sent that," he admitted, "Had to work myself up to it; I'm usually not violent, except when I am. And when I am, watch out! So many chems, so many varieties! When I take mentats, I can feel my entire chassis breathe like a giant, spherical lung."

Unexpected, but rather disappointing. He hoped for a conquest, and found himself instead facing another question and answer session.

"Why did you steal these brains?" Vulpes asked.

"Oh, a variety of raisins," Mobius said, "You're something of a homily? Erm, anomaly? Anyway, you're quiet special, and not in the cranially challenged way. You see, you are the most successful brain extraction at Big MT. A victim of your own success, as it were. If you were to go back with what your brain knows about the procedure, well, you could have your brain popped back in and you could walk right out of there. Can't have brains moving around of their own volition."

"And why is that a problem?"

"I'm not sure," Mobius replied, "but I'm sure that there's a pretty good raisin for it, even if I do forget my raisins occasionally. Although I feel this one is especially important."

"What about your roboscorpions?" Crassius asked.

"They came out of the desert," Mobius said, "they survived when everything else had died, and I guess I rewarded their tenacity. Then I made them bigger, and kept improving."

"It sounds like you built the robo-scorpions then issued treats to the Think Tank to keep them occupied," Vulpes concluded.

This was suspicious.

"Did I? Maybe I did," Mobius chuckled, "Can't have them leaving. Some reason for it. Ethics, or con-science? You and your brain are quite alike. I'm sure it has the raisins."

"Everything you've told me doesn't add up," Vulpes frowned, "your plan, and even your name, Mobius."

"Dr. Mobius," he replied, "catchy, isn't it? It's my name, er, or it is now. Overwrote the old one. This name's as real as you or I, although your brain expressed similar incredulity of such an appellation. As for the name I was born with, like the Think Tank, we were reprogrammed to forget them and take on new names. It enforces the recursion loop in our perception programming."

"So you reprogrammed their names as part of the recursion loop?" Vulpes asked, "did you do that to trap their processors?"

Crassius paced behind him. He was likely impatient to get Marcus back in order. And while Vulpes was as well, he wanted to make sure he figured this out before leaving. If he returned without something in trade besides the death of Mobius, then the Think Tank would not allow them to return to the Mojave. He also needed to know how to get the brains back in the bodies without damage.

"Now, trap is a rather harsh word," Mobius chastised him, "Like excrement. Not an inappropriate word, but still, rather harsh. But yes, I did take some liberties with their programming. It's alright; they don't remember. I certainly didn't until you said 'trap' and then I said 'excrement', and then –"

"Why did you trap them?" he asked.

"The radar fence to keep the Think Tank penned in wasn't really enough," Mobius admitted, "they keep testing things; they would have found a way to disarm it. I suspect I have plan Cs in place, but I suspect I may have forgotten them, just in case. They're probably dangerous, lethal, or even worse. So I had to do something else to keep them occupied here."

"Klein, Mobius," Vulpes mused, "O's a circle, 8's an infinity symbol; they're all loops. I get it."

"Oh, you really figured it out," Mobius chuckled, "Dr. O, which is not really is real name multiplied, since you can't multiply his real name in the first place, Ouro-borous, Klein – they have all forgotten themselves. Not only themselves, but the world, their sense of time, and history. All that is left is what's here. I reprogrammed everything, and now, this is their world, here: Big MT. It was a merciful lobotomy, thinking back. They were my friends, but sometimes they would take things too far. And the world isn't ready for that kind of too-far-think-taking, in my opinion."

"Minor detail," Vulpes interjected, "but a snake devouring its own tail is Ouro-borus, not Ouro-borous." It was another useless fact that made him smarter than everyone else – or at least, made him appear smarter.

"Really?" the bot marveled, "It is so unlike me to make an error in anything I do."

Crassius stopped his pacing and turned to Mobius.

"I still don't understand why you sent the threats, and the roboscorpions, to the Think Tank."

"Despite their many failings," Mobius admitted, "they are really bright. They are the Think Tank for a raisin. Without something to distract them, they would simply deduce what happened. Then you two came along, the final variable solved. They finally saw that their world was larger than they perceived. Bacteria, finally able to see its host."

"But there must have been other signs of a larger world," Vulpes nodded. He heard about other visitors from 8.

"There have been other visitors to make them doubt their perceptions," Mobius replied, "but you were the ones that made them dial back their monitor micro magnifiers. You were irrefutable proof that there was a world outside, and then there was the whole brain fiasco, which forced me to take steps."

The crazy old coot act was somewhat of a lie. Mobius had enough of his mental faculties to know what he was doing. But did he know why he was doing it? Why keep the Think Tank at Big Mt?

All reasons aside, he was glad that they weren't unleashed on the Mojave.

"The auto doc worked for once on your brain," he continued, "and it gave the Think Tank the knowledge it shouldn't process; now the procedure can be reversed. If they obtain that knowledge, then they could use that knowledge to mush and modify their crainial selves to hosts to slip past the radar fence, I'm sure of it."

They could use his brain to leave Big Mt. And now, the Think Tank knew this. He would have to either charm them into letting him leave, or kill them. But there had been other visitors, and they escaped on their own. If he knew about them, he could work with their escape to plan his own.

"Do you know anything about the other visitors?" Vulpes asked.

"Not much," Mobius grumbled, "except they contaminated the Think Tank with new ideas. One caused great deal of infrastraucture damage with his brain and smartness. Ruthless, that one. Played a little rough with the trains. But the last one was the most dangerous. Him, eh, slipping away was almost as bad as the Think Tank escaping."

"What do you mean?"

"The first one, the ruthless one," Mobius said, "he asked for weapons, power, technology that could destroy an entire nation with force. The other asked a different question; he asked what makes nations, and what breaks them. He spoke to the Think Tank, to Klein, showed them the Old World flag, and made them remember it – all of it, all that had happened. They shared things with him that they shouldn't. He now carries those ideas, that knowledge elsewhere."

"Did he have a name?" Vulpes asked.

"Er, it was a strange name," Mobius remembered, "Ulysses, I believe."

Shit.

That was not a good person to have Old World knowledge. The man was always a bit off, and if he used that knowledge for anything, it wouldn't be good. Vulpes cursed that he didn't put Ulysses down with the rest of his tribe. But, he had been following orders, and at the time, it would have been insubordination to do so. And Ulysses was too smart to send on a suicide mission; he would have known, and would have refused. Vulpes was stuck cleaning up the mess of his predecessors. He had to get his brain back, get Marcus put back together, and find some way to track the rogue agent down.

"If it's alright with you," Vulpes nodded, "I'll go get my brain now."

Mobius told him to go ahead, and he did just that. Vulpes made his way up the short, dimly lit staircase to a tank that housed a brain at the top. Crassius followed close behind.

There was a speaker on the front of the tank, and Vulpes paused. What was it that Mobius said about the brain not wanting to return with him?

"Hey fag," the brain greeted. Vulpes recoiled in shock. It was talking with them.

"Excuse me?" Crassius grumbled. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Not you," the brain sighed, "the other half-fag. Finally, you showed up. Been crawling through radioactive muck again?"

"You have an odd accent," Vulpes frowned. It wasn't what he wanted to say, but at the same time, he wanted to ignore that his brain called him something rather rude.

"As to that," the brain replied, "you'd be surprised as to how hard it is to find a proper voice modulator in the Forbidden Zone. It's not as if brain-sustaining life support tanks grow on trees, fag."

Enough.

"Why the hell are you calling me that?"

"Oh, sorry," the brain drawled, "didn't mean to out you in front of your homosexual friend. You should ask him for some lessons; maybe he can teach you how to be comfortable with who you are."

"I'm not a homosexual," Vulpes clipped. He didn't come there to be confronted about this stupidity.

"But you're half," the brain chided, "and you're too stubborn of an ass to admit it."

Vulpes chose to ignore it. He didn't want to talk about his unnatural desires, and certainly didn't want to think about them. They were fine kept in the dark recesses of his mind.

"So, you're my brain," he sighed.

"Ah, lovely," the brain replied, "you figured it out. Would you like a cookie?"

"Why are you such a dick?"

Vulpes wanted to retract the terrible question as soon as he said it. While he wanted to believe that Six and her sometimes childish manner of speaking rubbed off on him, he knew it was because the brain threw him off with its blunt accusations.

"Oh, me?" the brain replied, "a 'dick'? I'm not the one that makes us fuck around with god-knows infested women, reading for hours on end without rest, and going into radiation infested towns to remove the lids on canisters of radioactive sludge. And let's not forget playing around with the Butcher and getting raped for a second time in our life. Do you think I enjoyed that little moment?"

"Do you think I enjoyed it?" Vulpes hissed.

At times, he did enjoy it, and that was the most disgusting and damning part of it all. It took a ruined, unnatural person to enjoy something like that.

"Well, next time you hear me telling you that flirting with another person is a bad idea," the brain quipped, "you'll listen."

His brain acted like it was going to be back inside his head soon. All he had to do was talk to it just a little bit more, reminisce about the good times, and it would be back.

"Don't you want to be reunited?" Vulpes asked, "I thought you'd be happy to get back into my head."

"I'm not going to lie to you," the brain mused,"that prospect is not very appealing. Look at it from my perspective; here I have peace, quiet, and safety. I don't have things happening to me that reminds me of our terrible childhood, and our absolute confusion and horror at wondering if we're one of those dirty half-queers."

"And what about the good things?" Vulpes insisted, "What about the breeze, being able to see things? What about Six?"

"Overrated biological feedback," the brain replied, "believe me, that's all a result of hormones."

"Isn't it just as true that you only feel this way because you're lacking those hormones?"

There was a long pause as the brain considered what he said.

"Hm, I suppose you're right," the brain said, "that does bring certain assumptions into a different light, doesn't it?"

God, he was smarter than his own brain.

"So, we're at an impasse," Vulpes said, "you can't feel what I feel, and I can't think the way you think." He certainly couldn't think the way the brain thought about their supposed sexuality.

"How do you suppose we resolve it?"

"I think we have to realize that we're not complete when separated," he replied.

"I suppose there's an advantage to that, yes," the brain admitted, "with that knowledge, it could improve synergy between us."

"So, what do you say, brain?" Vulpes asked, "will you join me again?"

"I know what you're trying to do," the brain sighed, "and it won't work on me. You have to admit who and what you are. No more playing around. No more denial. It doesn't matter if you were born this way or if circumstance made you so. You are who you are. You don't have to act on it or shout it from the rooftops, but for God's sake, don't stuff yourself in the closet for the rest of your life."

Vulpes sighed and stared at the floor. He didn't want to address this; not now, not ever. Glancing back toward his friend, he realized that if he rejected the brain's condition, then he would be rejecting Crassius and Marcus as well. If he told the brain no in an attempt to lie about who he was, then it would be a clear signal to his friends that he found them and their lifestyle in the wrong.

He wouldn't say to that to his friends, because he didn't believe that about them. Vulpes embraced his friends and their lifestyle, and even supported them when the penalty was death. He was left with no choice but to embrace himself as well.

And who was more important than him, besides Six?

"That's fine," Vulpes conceded, "it was bound to happen someday, and you probably saved me from doing something very stupid."

"Good," the brain replied, "but before we rejoin, we have a problem. Even if I could settle back in there and reconnect my nerve endings, Dr. Mobius doesn't have the tools here. We would have to use Dr. Klein's lab, and I doubt they're inclined to share."

"They're indebted to me," Vulpes shrugged, "besides, they promised to put us back together once I did what they wanted."

"And you believed them, really?" the brain snorted, "I know you were recently deprived of my fabulous advice, but really? Once I'm delivered into their clutches, they'll escape the fence, and the whole Mojave would be their playground. And that is assuming one of them doesn't take a fancy to our own body and decide to slip their brain into it instead."

"You're part of me," Vulpes insisted, "I know you don't want to let that happen any more than I do. Besides, you know how smart and charming we are."

"Well, I suppose I do miss those dopamine rushes when we make love to our wife," the brain admitted, "I'll join you."

The tank unsealed the glass canister from its base, and Vulpes took his brain from the pedestal. He turned to face Crassius, who gave him a small smile.

"I always knew," he admitted, "won't tell Marcus or anyone, though. That's for you to do."

Vulpes nodded slowly, not having the words to reply. He made his way back to the Think Tank with his brain and his friend. Soon, he would be back home where he belonged.

It was strange how that moment changed nothing and everything at the same time.

Vulpes was still the same person.


	13. Chapter 13

In the time it took them to return, the Think Tank changed. The atmosphere was different; he felt ready to do whatever it took to get everything back in order, even if it meant killing every last member of the Think Tank.

The pacification field was down.

Vulpes walked up the ramp to the Think Tank, noting that the lighting was now red like the lights in Mobius' lair.

"The lobotomites have returned," Klein announced, "has Dr. Mobius been denominated into scrap metal and voice module parts as we have asked?"

Vulpes stopped in front of the platform where the Think Tank hovered in a line. Without a doubt, they knew exactly what was going on.

"We found the brains," Crassius said, "now we are going to settle things."

Vulpes exhaled slowly. That was not a good way to word it.

"I recommend watching your tone with me lobotomite," Klein hissed, "now hand over the brain, or I'll extract it again."

Now that everything was out in the open, compromise would be difficult. Vulpes clutched the jar of brain. He wouldn't give it up; he needed to return home with his friends, and he wouldn't compromise about it.

"As per our prior agreement," Vulpes insisted, "the brain and the brain piece are to be put back where they came from, in proper order. We should discuss how this will happen."

"And what could we possibly have to talk about?" Klein scoffed, "You have the brain; now surrender. With it, we can finally leave this place. We have so many questions to ask your brain first, about this Mojave place."

If the Think Tank somehow overcame them, he was confident that his brain wouldn't talk, and it would attempt to self-destruct before giving them the satisfaction. It was a frumentarius brain, after all, so it had been trained to believe that death was better than talking, at least.

That was, if it could self-destruct.

"Maybe you should confer with your colleagues first," Vulpes said.

He hoped that the relationships he established with the other members of the Think Tank would prove to be useful. Otherwise, they would have to kill them all, and find a way to get the insane Mobius to do the procedure. And Mobius didn't seem keen on letting anyone leave Big MT.

"Nonsense," Klein groused, "confer? Colleagues? Those are two words I do not recognize"

Dala turned toward Klein, and Vulpes silently congratulated himself. She was going to stand up to this nonsense.

"Dr. Klein," Dala said, "I must interject. Please, do not harm the lobotomite."

"I'm not going to harm it!" Klein shouted, "I'm going dissect until its dead. Why the sudden intersection, Dala?"

"I cannot stand a breathing," she began, "a sweet, breathing organism, breathing in and out to suddenly not breathe. We must keep it alive for study. Slow and careful study."

"What do you care?!" Klein snapped.

"It has family," she insisted, "a wife. And the other two are a bonded pair. They would all make a fascinating study."

It was then that Dr. Zero hovered closer to Klein as well.

"Klein, this lobotomite," Zero interjected, "it's a great sounding board for ideology. You respect ideology, right? This one, well, it's got great ideas."

"Silence, Dr. O," Klein ordered, "This is a Think Tank decision. Save your objections until after I have decided our course of action."

Wasn't the Think Tank supposed to be a collective?

"You know what, Klein?" Zero hissed, "Stick a straw in your tank, and suck yourself, long and deep. And my name is Zero – a big, fat zero with a slash through it. A slashagonal!"

"Slashagonal," Klein marveled, "as a designator of – that's brilliant! But how did you?"

"One of the lobotomites taught me that," Zero replied, "Taught me that a name is more than... um... that I should take pride in, um, things, like names and..."

Vulpes sighed as the doctor trailed off. He had been doing well.

"You know what, Klein?" Zero hissed, "I hate you! And your theory about brainial beam oscillation? The Chinese had it first, you copycat!"

"How dare you!" Klein gasped, "Brainial beam oscillation was solely my discovery! I expressly told you that and deleted all evidence to the contrary!"

And that was what got them into trouble in the first place. Vulpes sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot. This was getting tiresome.

Surprisingly, Dr. 8 came forward to interject on their behalf.

"Et tu, 8?" Klein asked, "Why are you acting like this? You've never refused to commit necessary surgery before. And this lobotomite needs its surgery."

8 stated that he didn't want them to be harmed either; he appreciated the fact that Vulpes took the time to try to understand him. He shared that they were actually rather smart, and that the knowledge they had could come in use. But above all else, it was wrong to alter someone or something against its will, especially when the lobotomites were friends.

"A noble speech," Klein admitted, "but there's no room in my vocabulators for 'friend' and 'lobotomite' in the same sentence. Why am I even listening to you fools? I count as five, like the mighty human hand I once had, with its five penises clenched tightly into a fist!"

Vulpes erupted in laughter, and even Crassius chuckled behind him.

"The word you're looking for is fingers," he drawled, "I showed you what a penis is. Do I have to show you again to educate you?"

Each member of the Think Tank replied with a quick no, save Dala's small whisper of 'yes'.

"Dr. Klein," Vulpes shrugged, "you have been outvoted on this matter."

"Hm," Klein admitted, "well, if this were a democracy, I'd be concerned. But, we are too scientific for that, so just surrender."

"It's not a democracy; it's a research facility," Vulpes insisted, "and over half your colleagues dispute your findings. Besides, democracy is a proud, American tradition. It would be treasonous to resort to fascist actions."

"Exactly!" Borous exclaimed, "We are not commie pinkos!"

Klein hovered closer to Vulpes, his monitors lowering down to eye level.

"You dare use logic against me!"

"I do," Vulpes sneered, "We will not surrender; you will."

"That's no deal at all!" Klein shouted, "There's a whole world beyond the crater, filled with ideas and possibilities! We could have escaped and tested it; prodded it, made it squirm."

Vulpes nodded as he thought of what to do. If there was a way he could compromise – even if the compromise was somewhat of a lie – then he could have his way and be out of this place.

"I can bring the Mojave to you," Vulpes insisted, "You'll be safe here, and you'll still be able to experiment. It's very dangerous out there, and science needs you here."

Klein stopped, as if he was actually considering the offer. The fear of the unknown made him pause. After all, they assumed that the world had been destroyed in atomic fire. But, what if something worse than that happened? What if the world was more dangerous than radiation?

And in Vulpes' opinion, it was, ironically due to the Think Tank unleashing cazadores and nightstalkers on the Mojave.

"For you and for science?" Klein asked, "I have a strange sensation that I would like that. Very well, then. The Think Tank will stay here. Upon your surgery, we will discuss what things can be done."

Vulpes gave Klein an appeasing smile, secretly shocked that he somehow had his way with the Think Tank. They had a chance to escape their centuries-old prison, but didn't take it. Perhaps, Klein was truly scared of what dangers lurked in the Mojave. Or, perhaps, he realized that if he pushed too hard, the Think Tank would overthrow him, and he could be destroyed by the very colleagues he subverted.

Now, he was guaranteed to return to Six. He just hoped that Marcus could be restored.

* * *

This was it. They were here, in front of the bunker that housed the crazy guy that wanted to blow up the Mojave. The large, steel doors reminded her of the Brotherhood of Steel's bunker, somewhat. The familiarity, though small, was comforting. The world was a small place.

She turned to Lanius, and gave him a nod. With his sword drawn, he opened the bunker door, and the pair stepped inside.

Like the other buildings in the Divide, it was dark and dusty. Nobody had been there in a long time, and the stranger never left signs that he was there, save his painted markers.

Right in the entryway, there was a dead soldier. It seemed like he hadn't been there too long, and it meant that they were in the right place. Six led the way through the door to the right and down the hall to another sealed door. As soon as she opened it, a sentry bot alerted. But Lanius was deceptively fast, and took care of the bot immediately.

With the threat gone, Six took a moment to take in her surroundings. They appeared to be in an intelligence room of sorts, complete with a large map of nearby areas. Where the map showed the Divide, there were orange radiation symbols; where the bomb exploded in Ashton, there was a bright red symbol. Each of these things marked the things she had done – the things the stranger made her do – and Six was furious again.

She stomped forward to the next door to get an end to things, and stopped in the doorway. There, in a stasis pod in the far corner, was a familiar looking robot.

Six ran toward the pod and mashed on the keyboard until the door hissed and let the imprisoned Ed-E out.

"That mean guy stole you," Six huffed.

Ed-E shook in rage and beeped loudly. He was just as mad as she was. And why wouldn't he be? The guy forced him to leave her against his will. It reminded her of the awful things Yes-Man was subjected to; he wasn't able to say no until he reprogrammed himself. Though it worried Six to begin with, she knew that it was the right thing to do. She would support Yes-Man's independence as best she could.

"Let's get him!" the Courier bellowed, stomping toward the next door.

Lanius stopped her short of opening it.

"You'd better hide Vulpes' mark," he suggested, "he wasn't very well liked among some of the conquered tribes."

Six frowned and looked down at the mark. She hadn't taken it off since she got it, but he was right. Six wasn't ashamed of her husband, but some of his past could come back to hurt her. And that was something he'd never want to have happen to her. Nodding, the Courier carefully tucked the pendant under her leather armor and opened the next door.

They picked their way through the next rubble-filled room by the light of a lone auto-doc in the corner. When she reached the other side, Six exhaled. Her map marker was stopping here; this door led them to the place they needed to go. She pushed the button to open the door, and the mismatched trio stepped onto the elevator that would lead them to their destination. Six fidgeted nervously as it crawled its way upward.

"I am sworn to protect you," Lanius said, "I will die to prevent you from being harmed."

Six swallowed and looked down at the floor.

"Don't die," she whispered.

She'd gotten attached.

Before Six had time to ponder the meaning of this, the elevator door opened at a silo much like the one at Hopeville. In the middle of the gigantic, round room, eyebots hovered around a missile that was bigger and more sinister than the one at Ashton. Sirens blared and the area around the missile began to awaken. And in the center of it all, was the stranger, an Old World flag painted on the back of his long, dirty duster.

"I know this one," Lanius grumbled.

Before Six had time to ask more, the stranger began to speak.

"Your city, Vegas, lies in the other direction with the rest of its slaves," he announced. "The Divide is awakening. The missiles here are ready."

"What happened at the Divide was an accident," Six countered, "What you're doing though is madness. There are people in Vegas; more people than there have been in over two hundred years."

He turned to face her and Six backed away. It wasn't that he was so big and strong looking, or that he seemed menacing; the look in his eyes was broken. This man was destroyed.

He shook his head, and the beads in his dark, braided hair clattered together.

"No, this has a purpose," he said, "I believe you when you say you were careless. What I do now is an act of conviction."

"Then if you blame me for this, I'll answer it!" she shouted, "don't blame others."

"Blame you? No, I learned from you," he said, "both the strength to kill a nation and make it strong. You showed me that road. You've already shown what you've done, and now, the flag you support will answer for it."

"So, what, you intend to bomb the Mojave?"

"No, not the Mojave." he replied, "the west; all that's been built since America died. Same symbols as before the war, now carried by a tribe of children. You walked west and didn't stay, and you know the reason. The Bear grows without structure. After this, only one flag will fly over the Mojave. Let it fly, or destroy itself."

This was his Legion mission; even after running away from them, he still held hatred for the NCR. Though Six didn't like them either, there was no reason to bomb them, and all the people – men, women, children – that loved life and wanted to make some good in the world. And despite all of the thieving, greedy rhetoric of the NCR, the people weren't really part of that. There was good everywhere in the world.

"You can't destroy the west, even with all the missiles here," she said.

"No need to destroy the bear," he replied, "just cut its throat."

The large, circular door that capped the dome of the silo began to groan open. She was running out of time.

"Even if you have no faith in Vegas," she said, "I do, and my actions have proven it."

Six gave so much to make sure the Mojave was free. Only those closest to her even knew the half of it.

"Your actions have carried strength," he admitted, "and have given strength to the families on the Strip. If you believe that Vegas shouldn't fall as the west, then answer why."

He walked closer to her, and Lanius stepped forward. Six knew that he wouldn't let the stranger get too close.

"You told me that I gave life to the Divide," Six said, "I've done the same with Vegas. Freeside has become a great place. The Strip has become more friendly. The roads are safer, people have work, and they're free."

The man stopped as close as Lanius would allow him, sighed, and glanced back at the missiles.

"Even if you speak for Vegas and its ghosts," he admitted, "nothing you can do can prevent the missiles' launch. Convincing me changes nothing."

The silo door was completely open, and arms began to detach themselves from the sides of the missile.

"I believe that one person can make or break a nation," Six said, "you already know this."

He managed a twitch of a smile, but it never reached his eyes. What was it about the Legion that completely destroyed its men? Was the whole so important that the individual had to be abused to sustain it?

Six didn't believe in that. She believed in love for everyone; she believed in second chances.

"It may be that as much destruction is written in the earth here," the stranger said, "that you may be able to build something else, as you built the Divide. You have spoken truly; there is the shadow of a nation behind you – the hope of a people. But it may not matter; the Divide still stands against us."

And if she believed in second chances, then she would swallow her pride and give this man a second chance.

"There still might be a way out of this," she sighed, "I just need time."

Six stepped down a set of short stairs to the missile console in the silo, and wondered what she could even do with it.

The stranger drew a machete and gave her a nod.

"It was always my intention that in case I could not kill you, that marked men would flood this place and cut off your escape. If we cannot prevent what comes, then let us stand together."

It seemed that he was giving her a second chance too. Perhaps, this person had a place in the Mojave as well.

The elevator door burst open and soldiers flooded into the silo. Lanius and the stranger charged forward, cutting a path through them.

"I'm not dying!" Six called, "I have too much to do. I have a husband to get back to, and people to take care of."

Six pondered the console; it wasn't locked like the other one, and there appeared to be menu options. She glanced behind her, and gasped. Lanius was getting overrun.

Drawing her pistol, she picked off the crowd until it was easier for him to manage. A few slipped past the defenses toward her, but the stranger jumped in front of their path and cut them down.

"Your muscle probably will probably raise his rate after this," he chuckled.

"I'm paid in being allowed to live and serve," Lanius replied, "I will die before she is harmed."

The stranger seemed to find this odd – after all, who besides the Legion had blood contracts?

"Neither of you are allowed to die!" she shouted, before taking a shot at a soldier who got too close.

Deciding she had better focus, the Courier looked at the console again. From the menu options, it appeared that she could set new targeting parameters; she could target the NCR, Legion, or both.

But where was the cancel option?

Ed-E began to play a log again, and Six listened to it only half- heartedly. Now wasn't the time to play games. But something in the log made her pause; an eyebot could hack into heavily encrypted terminals. Ed-E hovered closer to her and stuck out an antenna.

"Are you sure you can do this?" she asked.

The log continued to play, and her heart sank. Doing this would kill Ed-E. This didn't seem to bother the bot, who bobbed up and down, affirming that he could.

"The log says this will kill you," Six murmured.

As the missile began to slowly rise on the platform, Ed-E beeped sadly and hovered closer to the terminal. He was going to do cancel the launch.

"You're doing the right thing," the Courier admitted, "I'm so proud."

Ed-E saluted her with an antenna and began to play dramatic music as he plugged himself into the console. Without warning, he exploded in a big flash of light, and was no more.

Six darted forward to check the console one more time and stared at it in horror.

The launch was aborted, but the missile was still set to detonate.

"It's going to explode here!" she shouted.

Six didn't have to say anything more, and the stranger told them to follow him out. The Courier bounded up the stairs, her foot catching on the top step and sending her sprawling. Pain radiated out from her ankle, and she cursed; it was definitely sprained.

A strong pair of arms hauled her up, and before she knew it, Lanius was carrying her out of the silo. Sirens continued to blare as they ran from the inevitable launch. And though Lanius was very strong and running very fast while carrying her, she was scared.

What if she died?

They ran through shortcuts in the tunnels until they finally popped out of the ground. Behind her, Six saw the silo; it was still too close, and her pip-boy timer was almost out. The stranger skidded to a halt next to a circular container and opened it with a press of a button.

"Get inside!"

She wasn't sure who was first inside the shelter, but it didn't matter. The three of them managed to cram into it. As Lanius loosened his grip on her, she slid down the fronts of the shelter's other two occupants to stand on one foot.

"My husband would have a fit over this," she grumbled – boobs on one man, ass on the other.

Lanius had a chuckle at her expense, and the Courier sighed. It was going to be hell trying to get back with a bad ankle.

A loud rumble sounded outside the shelter, and she craned her neck to look at the stranger.

"This one is your fault," Six hissed, giving him her worst glare.

It must have worked; he turned his head to the side in shame, the beads in his hair clattering together.

"I accept it," he whispered.

"I accept it all."

* * *

Crassius paced outside the autodoc room, waiting for news of some sort. Both Marcus and Vulpes were in there. Their brains were getting repaired, and if something happened to them, he would be alone.

As horrible as it felt, after he awoke to Marcus being unresponsive, Crassius had only the smallest hopes that his lover could be restored to the way he was. Vulpes seemed to have better odds, given that he was functioning.

There was a beep from inside the auto doc room, and the door slid open to let Vulpes out. Crassius exhaled shakily as their eyes met and Fox gave him a nod; one down, at least.

"Do you feel any different?" he asked.

Vulpes shook his head.

"Perhaps the entire brain is easier to reconnect," he shrugged. Vulpes gave him a small pat on the back and nodded in the direction of the room.

"They know what they're doing now," he said, "shouldn't be too long at this point."

Crassius nodded slowly. How did he know it wouldn't be long? He wasn't a brain surgeon. The praetorian watched as Vulpes anxiously glanced toward the room, and realized that what he said was a mere placation. He didn't know any more than Crassius knew.

A loud beep drew him out of his worry, and the door to the autodoc room slid open again. He didn't wait for Marcus to move – if he even could – and ran into the room. The autodoc opened with a hiss and Marcus burst from the container with a shout. Crassius caught him quickly and held him. He was alive! He was moving!

"It's okay," Crassius told him, "I'm here and everything is fine."

Marcus gave him a worried look, awkwardly returned the embrace with a quick pat on the back, and stepped backward out of his arms. Something wasn't right.

"Crassius," he nodded.

At least he recognized him. Crassius swallowed his anxiousness and watched as Marcus glanced toward Vulpes and give him a veiled once-over.

"Noble Fox," he greeted.

If Vulpes was concerned at Marcus' behavior, he didn't show it.

"Do you remember what happened?" Vulpes asked.

Marcus sighed and shook his head, staring at the ground.

"When exploring reports of strange lights near Nipton," Vulpes answered, "we came across technology from the Old World that brought us here. Part of your brain was removed, and it was recently restored."

Marcus shook his head again, unbelieving of what he just heard. By now, he would have asked a torrent of questions, but something held him back. Crassius stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It was okay to ask questions.

Instead, Marcus looked toward Vulpes, his eyes meeting the Fox's gaze before looking down at the floor in submission.

"What do you need to know?" Vulpes asked.

Marcus stared past him and swallowed.

"What place is Nipton?" he asked.

"A small community in the Mojave that I sacked," Vulpes answered, "nobody lives there anymore."

Marcus' head shot up and he glanced between the two of them.

"We're that far into the Mojave?" he asked, "the new Legate must have done well."

He had forgotten, though how much he forgot, Crassius couldn't say. Would he remember the things they went through? Would he remember the sacrifices they made? Would he remember their love?

Vulpes stepped forward with a frown, and Marcus stared down in submission. Fox outranked him.

"Who am I?" Vulpes questioned.

"Most worthy spymaster," Marcus replied, "servant of Mars, capable and cunning."

Vulpes' face softened, and Crassius felt ill. He watched as Vulpes lifted his shirt to mop imaginary sweat from his chin with the tail, and watched as Marcus made a shameful attempt at hiding his embarrassment at staring.

"He's forgotten everything," Crassius lamented, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Marcus stared at the floor and mumbled out an apology, then straightened to give Fox a salute. Vulpes caught his arm in mid-movement, and gently put it back in its place.

"You salute no one, friend," he smiled.

Marcus' face washed with confusion, and Crassius resisted the urge to reach out and reassure him. Such a touch would only cause him more confusion and embarrassment.

"This is awful," Marcus sighed, "I wish I knew."

"My wife has no memories either," Vulpes said, "perhaps, she can aid you in relearning some things."

"Your wife?" Marcus asked. His face fell and he looked at the floor, his face turning red.

"We have been married for almost a year," Vulpes nodded.

Marcus let out a small 'oh' and looked around the room in discomfort.

And there it was, the awkward truth that at one point, Marcus desired Vulpes much more than he desired him. How could he compete with that? How did he ever manage to overcome an obstacle so large? The one thing he knew is that Vulpes would never step in, and it was somewhat comforting.

Vulpes interrupted his thoughts and nodded out toward the Think Tank.

"We should let them know that it worked," he said.

Marcus and Crassius followed him out; Marcus followed at a much slower pace. Sensing his unease, Crassius turned to him.

"We will let you know everything that happened," he said, "it's a lot to think about, so we can give you time. You don't have to know all at once."

Marcus gave him a small smile – the one he fell in love with. No, even with him forgetting so much, there was still something powerful between them. Crassius felt it.

He turned to watch Vulpes speak with the Think Tank, and figured he didn't care to talk to them. He had Marcus back, of a sort, and that was good enough for him.

"What kind of research do you think would be most helpful?" Klein asked, eager to get started on a project.

It was a complete turn from earlier, but Crassius supposed that Vulpes convinced them that the Mojave was dangerous. And with how ignorant the Think Tank was, Crassius had no doubt that they wouldn't survive long out in the desert. This arrangement was best.

Vulpes gave them a smile, the one that told Crassius that he was up to something.

"Your first subject: a man, approximately fifty-seven years old," he began, "a burn victim, covered in severe burns from head to toe. Create some skin for him. Hair on the appropriate places of that skin would be nice as well."

Graham. Vulpes intended to restore Graham, and fix what he had done to him.

"What good would that do?" Klein huffed.

"Imagine," Dala interjected, "keeping the population healthy and curing burns and scarring."

"I still don't get it," Klein deadpanned.

Vulpes put his hands behind his back and began to pace. Crassius knew that it was a preparation for a speech of sorts; Vulpes did not normally pace, nor did he show much worry.

"This man was covered in tar," he said, "lit on fire, and thrown into the Grand Canyon. Everyone, including himself, believed he would die from this punishment."

"It has been years since he has felt wind on his face without pain," he continued, "The simplest tasks – bathing, eating, going for a walk – have been made into a never ending trial. It has been years since he has felt the sun, years since he has touched or felt the touch of another. He lives in a closed off world, where he cannot feel any form of environmental feedback."

Crassius wondered where he was going with this. The Think Tank surely couldn't feel pity for Graham; they weren't human, and didn't remember being so.

"He lives as you have lived," Vulpes concluded, "I bring the Mojave to you, and you will be seeing, thinking, and feeling. I ask that you bring the Mojave to him."

There was a gulf of silence as the Think Tank considered what he said.

"When you put it like that," Klein sighed, "the honor of science demands that we do as you ask. Let no one be unseeing and unknowing."

The bot hovered closer to give Vulpes a strange looking gun.

"This is the Big MT Transportalponder," Klein said, "it will transport you to and from the Think Tank whenever you choose. If you want to bring a guest, just have them holding on to you when you use it."

Vulpes nodded and turned around to Crassius. It was time to leave.

Crassius stepped forward and put his hand on Vulpes' shoulder. Marcus followed hesitantly behind, doing as Crassius did.

"Give us some time to figure this skin thing out," Klein grumbled, "sounds a bit gross, if you ask me."

Vulpes chuckled and raised the gun.

"I'm sure your brilliance can figure it out," he replied.

Before the Think Tank could reply, they were enveloped in a flash of light, and when it died down, they were outside of Nipton once again. It was time to get going back to the Lucky 38, and hopefully, they could explain what was going on to Marcus in the time it took to get there.

It appeared to be early in the morning, and no time had been lost traveling through space and time back to their starting point. Crassius couldn't begin to guess what their travel involved, and suspected that Vulpes didn't either. Regardless, they were back, staring out at the vacant desert.

"Which way do we go?" Marcus asked.

Vulpes nodded to the north, and he took off without as much as a word. Crassius supposed that it was a lot for Marcus to handle; he knew how strongly Marcus felt emotions, and knew that he was in a considerable amount of anguish.

He stared after Marcus and glanced at Vulpes.

"What should I do?" Crassius whispered.

Fox shrugged.

"Do as you always have," he replied, "he will fall in love with you again. You were meant to be, just as Six and I were."

Crassius nodded. They had been through much together, from hiding what they were, to defying the Legion to rescue a dear friend. This was just another trial they would face, and they would face it together.

Marcus was the only one for him.


	14. Chapter 14

Ed-E died to save them all.

She wasn't going to cry, not in front of these tough men. So she fought it, and seemed to be winning as the shelter door opened up. Her pip-boy began to tick slowly, signaling that there was some radiation in the area. They would have to get out of the blast range soon, or they'd all be sick.

Six wiggled in an attempt to get herself out of the shelter, but she was stuck. This space was clearly not meant for three people, and even two would be quite a squeeze. She tried again, this time inching her good foot toward the door. Something grabbed onto her injured leg, and Six tugged to get it free. It wasn't budging, and had she not been sandwiched upright, she would have fallen over.

"You're caught on my belt," the stranger sighed.

She felt a hand on her right thigh inching its way around to her holster and Six held her breath. She didn't like this.

"I mean nothing by it," the stranger insisted, as if sensing her discomfort.

"Well, what's your name then?" she asked. It was a strange time to ask a man's name when his hand was on her thigh, but Six always had poor timing.

With a short yank, the Courier was dislodged, and she wasted no time in hopping out of the shelter.

"Name's Ulysses," he said.

Six tilted her head at the strange name. She heard it somewhere before, but just not with a face like his.

"I'm Six!" she greeted.

Ulysses was out of the shelter, with Lanius sidling out quickly behind him.

"That's not your real name, is it?" Ulysses asked.

"It's the name I gave myself," she shrugged, "sounded okay to me, and I didn't remember my real name when I woke up.

Lanius trudged forward and swept her up into his arms with a grumble.

"You can chat while we walk," he groused, "you can survive getting shot, but I don't want to test radiation."

Ulysses nodded and began to lead them away from the blast zone. Six checked her pip-boy quickly to see if they were headed in the right direction. Even if he said they were okay now, she didn't quite trust Ulysses.

Lanius shot her a questioning look, and Six nodded. They were headed in the right direction.

"When we get out of the radiation zone," Ulysses said, "we should have a look at that ankle. I'm not a doctor, but I do know some basic healing techniques."

Six nodded, finding his offer acceptable. It was an obvious, though not unwanted, attempt at making peace between them.

The group continued onward in silence, and Six wondered what exactly Ulysses did in the Legion. Lanius said he knew this guy, and coupled with the fact that he was smart, she was sure that he wasn't just some common soldier.

But there was no reason for an officer to be wandering around on his own, dressing like how the Legion would consider a punk to dress. There was only one kind of person this man could be:

He was one of her husband's former agents.

The thought of something so familiar being close didn't soothe her; rather, it was even more worrisome. After all, Ulysses could be lying through his teeth at them. But if she was able to tell that the lovely Mr. Fox had been lying to her about his family – though at the time, she didn't know how – then surely she would know if he was lying as well. It certainly didn't feel like a lie.

Vulpes would not be happy with her using nothing more than feelings to figure it out, but Six had nothing else to go off of. Besides, her feelings were usually correct.

She looked ahead toward Ulysses with new eyes. He could be dangerous, but then again, he might not. The Courier didn't like not knowing, and she found herself talking before she could think better of it.

"For a moment there, it sounded like you knew me," Six lamented.

Ulysses stopped in his tracks and sighed.

"No, I didn't," he admitted, "just rumors and hearsay – all of which was rude and clearly untrue."

"Or untrue of me as I am now," Six sighed. "What did they say?"

He was attempting to flatter her a little, and while it was nice, she couldn't tell if it was genuine or not.

"A typical wanderer," he replied, "living payment to payment out of the bottom of a bottle. Careless with words; careless with men. In these matters, I clearly speak of the person in the grave, and not the person before me."

"Clearly so," Lanius groused.

Ulysses visibly shrank at the sound of his voice and Six gave her protector a pat on the arm. He wasn't the person she thought he was, and the Courier was glad to be wrong.

"But the one thing I know," Ulysses continued, "is the ability to be a catalyst for events has not changed. This is a trait you share."

"I only do what I have to," Six replied, "and I hope that when I'm given a decision, that I make the right one and do the good thing."

"You have that strength," Ulysses said, "that strength that I did not have. I suppose that destiny chooses the most unlikely of champions."

Six considered this for a moment. Was she destined to do great things? She felt like she just did as she was supposed to, and that greatness came from acts of kindness, like helping a girl out of a shallow grave and setting her back on her feet.

With that, Six thought of her reply:

"I'm nobody special. I'm just a messenger."

* * *

He watched as the old warrior set the queen of Vegas down. The woman perched on a rock, probably waiting to be attended to. Her oversized coat looked like a cape, hanging off of her shoulders and puddling on the ground. Ulysses watched as she let down her long, wild hair. As she began to comb it with her fingers, he found himself stepping forward to kneel in front of her.

He gently drew her injured ankle into his lap and began to untie the laces, telling himself that this was his promise. Still, there was something about this woman that compelled him to do things for her. Without a doubt, this was one of the women whom men fell all over themselves to serve; Ulysses hated himself for being just like all the others.

"Take the other one off too," he nodded, "We have to compare the two." As the Courier bent her other leg inward to untie her boot, he found himself glad that he was able to give her an order of sorts.

Ulysses saw the old warrior watching him intently out of the corner of his eye, and watched him in turn. If he did anything remotely suspicious, he knew his head would be severed from his neck.

He loosened her boot as much as possible before gently wiggling it off. The Courier bit her lip and whimpered lightly, her companion shifting on his feet.

"Definitely injured," Ulysses sighed.

"Do we have to get the sock off?" Six pleaded.

Ulysses gave her companion a sideways glance. If he caused her any more pain, his life could be forfeit.

"Yes," the old warrior grumbled.

With his permission, Ulysses pulled the sock off to reveal a purpling ankle. The Courier extended her other leg and he compared the two; he could wrap his hand around the normal ankle, but not the injured one.

"Bad sprain," he grumbled, "you can't walk on this."

The woman didn't like this news and began to pout.

"Home is still far away," she whined, "I just want to get home."

"I will carry you," the old warrior said. He turned his masked face toward Ulysses.

"And you," he grumbled, "you will accompany us. This is your doing."

"I tripped," Six sighed, "blame the stupid stairs."

There was a loud sigh from inside the mask as the old warrior allowed her to believe as she wished. He clearly blamed Ulysses for this injury, and though it wasn't his direct fault, he would take responsibility.

The Courier shifted to the side, grabbed her bag, and rooted around in it for something to eat. She seemed to settle on something and grumbled as she pulled it out to have a quick snack.

"I'm sick of all this packed food," she sighed, "I want some roasted crow or something."

"I cannot afford to leave you in this state," the old warrior said. The Courier pouted, knowing that she couldn't get her wish when her safety was on the line. He handed her the boot for her uninjured foot, and she took the signal that it was time to leave.

"If we find yucca on the way, it will help," Ulysses volunteered. If they dug the roots out and brewed it as a tea, it would help the swelling. Still, the ankle needed time and rest, which she didn't have.

The old warrior helped her up then allowed her to straddle his back. In his right hand, he held an impressive sword that looked like the Blade of the East – probably stolen from the marked men like his armor. Still, it appeared to be a fine blade and armor, and the dead couldn't make use of it.

They walked on, leaving the Divide behind. After leaving the fallout area, he began to see more signs of normal life. Within the next mile, Ulysses came across a yucca plant, cut at it with his machete, and took the necessary parts to brew tea.

"You're not going to hurt us, are you?" the Courier asked. "I mean, that's not poison, is it?"

Ulysses shook his head. He didn't want to hurt her, not after hearing what happened to her. She would be suspicious, however, since he dragged her across the Mojave to confront her about something she didn't remember.

"There's nothing I could say that would convince you that I won't," he replied. He didn't want to have to say it like that, but it was the naked truth.

"He won't," her companion insisted, "he wouldn't dare."

Ulysses swallowed and looked at the ground. No, even if he had malice for the woman, he wouldn't dare, not with the old warrior watching over her. He would be no match for him.

They continued forward for hours in silence, until they came across a small house. The sun was low on the horizon, and the Courier supposed it was as good of a place to stop as any. Ulysses didn't complain when the old warrior sent him in to clear it out of raiders and animals.

With a quick turn of the doorknob, he was in. The small, one room house had been abandoned for years; a thick film of dust lay on every surface. There were no signs of life, including animals. He poked his head out of the doorway to give the pair outside an all clear.

While the Courier situated herself on the floor, he lit a fire in the dusty fireplace began to prepare the tea. It was a common desert tribe recipe, one that he knew by heart. Every Twisted Hair knew this drink; later, every member of the Frumentarii knew this drink.

A can of cram thudded next to his foot, making him jump. Another one soon followed, and Ulysses got the message that he was to cook as well.

He hid his grumbling and did as the old warrior wished; this was woman's work, and it seemed that the man intentionally wanted to degrade him. Perhaps, he deserved it. He wasn't quite sure what he deserved.

Soon, the small house filled with the smell of yucca tea, roasting cram, and tobacco. It reminded him of a time long past – before his tribe was betrayed, before he was called Ulysses. The peace couldn't comfort him; it was merely a reminder of what he lost so long ago.

Ulysses glanced over to his odd traveling companions. The Courier was again combing her hair with her fingers, and her companion sat close. He still hadn't removed any of his armor, and Ulysses wondered if the man was insane; the armor had to weigh at least a hundred pounds.

Or, perhaps Ulysses was insane. Seeing the armor of Lanius, though a counterfeit, was still a bit unnerving.

"I always wondered what kind of man the Legate is," he mused, "And what exactly is under his mask."

"Probably a fist," the Courier beamed.

Her companion threw his head back in laughter at her absurd suggestion, his pilfered metal mask clanging against the wall. Ulysses shook his head and chuckled; the visage of the Legate on this man was quite strange.

He watched as the man removed his helm and gave the Courier a mischievous look. His face, though battle-hardened, seemed open, though kind wasn't the word he'd call it.

"I realize I'm not as pretty as your dear husband," he drawled, "but, a fist?"

Ulysses recoiled in horror at his error. This man, of his own admission, was the Legate. Six giggled and scooter closer to him, acting like nothing happened. She put her head on his arm and grimaced when her skull hit steel.

"Why are you so hard?" she frowned.

The man arched his brow and stared down at the woman, amusement plainly written on his face. As the Courier realized what she implied, she backed away in horror.

"Not like that, you dirty old man," she groused, "it's all that gosh dang armor you have on."

But the grin remained, and Ulysses found himself too horrified to take a side. How in the hell did this happen?

"And why are you so close?" the Legate asked, his voice barely a murmur.

Ulysses continued to stir the tea, and then ladled some into a cup.

"I'm cold, and I miss my husband," Six said.

"I don't."

The Courier received the cup of tea with a genuine smile and a thank-you. To her right, the Butcher leaned over to smell the tea then give her a nod of approval. It was not poison, just as Ulysses promised.

As the Courier sipped on the tea, he began to rub up and down her arms in an attempt to keep her warm. Six closed her eyes, leaned against Lanius' chest, and sighed, telling him to not stop. The Legate continued as best he could, and straightened a gigantic leg to drag a chair closer for the Courier to prop her foot up on.

Ulysses made a quick decision; he knew where this was headed.

"I believe I'll sleep under the stars tonight," he nodded.

The Courier seemed disappointed by this, and let him know that they wouldn't mind him around.

"I'm more comfortable that way," he insisted. And it was the truth. He didn't want to have to lie to these two if he could help it.

"I'm the opposite," Six said, "the more layers between me and the sky, the safer I feel."

"You'd probably like a vault then," Ulysses remarked. "I'll see you in the morning."

He opened the front door of the house and stepped outside. Even if he stayed in there, those two would find some way to do something.

Ulysses refused to become an accessory to adultery.

* * *

The rogue agent knew exactly who Lanius was, and this knowledge put the fear of the Butcher in him. It was probably what chased him out for the night. Lanius figured it was a good riddance; the Courier didn't need to be bothered by that man's constant sour attitude. When he was part of the Legion, Ulysses had a reputation for never smiling, never laughing – and it wasn't because he was serious. He was a bitter cynic of the worst kind, only obeying out of having nothing better to do. There was no reason why Ulysses should stay as part of the Legion, unless, of course, he was plotting revenge against Caesar for the slaughter of his people. Regardless, the other man's presence was a nuisance at best. Lanius wanted to be left alone with the Courier in order to figure her out.

Lanius grabbed some of the roasted cram, started eating, and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was quite a mystery, being so angry at him just a week ago, and then ordering him to not die that day. Perhaps, she saw him as a tool; it wouldn't be the first time someone thought of him as such. And if so, they could all be her tools. The Praetorians, her personal guard; the Follower, her personal doctor; the Scribe, her maidservant; Vulpes, her personal dildo.

Lanius, her ungrateful bastard footstool, thinking terrible things about her intentions toward those she cared about when her intentions had been transparent from the start.

It wasn't until their eyes met that he realized he'd been openly staring. What must she think, being alone with a man like him – a rapist, even if he felt guilt over it – without anyone to save her if he struck out at her? Doing such a thing was far from his mind.

She gave him a sly smile, like she knew what he was thinking.

"You were watching us, that one day," Six smirked. "You seemed to like watching."

Lanius paused in the middle of chewing. This was a dangerous conversation to be having, especially with her practically sitting in his lap.

"I did," he replied, "and you seemed to like me watching."

The Courier recoiled in shock, her face turning red. She let her hair fall over her shoulder, and refused to look at him. He discovered her secret.

"You seem to be ashamed," Lanius chuckled.

"It's not normal," the Courier murmured.

"According to whom?" he asked. Lanius stretched his legs out in front of himself and leaned back against the wall.

"People," she replied, her voice small. Six still wouldn't look at him.

"Not my people," he snorted.

This caught her attention, and she slowly turned to face him, hugging her knees.

"What did they do?" Six asked.

"Orgies," he shrugged, "lots of orgies."

Lanius waited for her to denounce this, but instead, the Courier sat in thought. Perhaps, this was something she was interested in.

He quickly squashed the thought. Vulpes would never allow it.

"What's an orgy?" she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

Lanius sighed, looked down at the floor, and shook his head. He was the last person that ought to be telling her these things. But, if he didn't tell her, she would get angry, and her anger was quite a powerful force.

"A large group of people gets together and has sex," he replied.

The Courier stared at him with wide eyes and a red face.

"This is a thing?" she asked.

"Yes," Lanius grumbled, "and it's the culture of some tribes. Being naked isn't wrong; being attracted to whoever is old enough isn't wrong. It doesn't make a person a degenerate."

He sighed as all the years of sadness and loneliness crept through the cracks in his carefully constructed emotional armor. The loneliness he buried seeped back in, soaking in enough that he knew there would be a permanent stain.

"Did the Legion ever make orgies?" Six asked.

Lanius laughed at the question and shook his head.

"Never," he replied, "a man would be put to death for touching another man. Affairs between a man and a slave were kept private."

Vulpes was considered strange for pleasuring the slave women when he laid with them. Lanius always figured the kid had somewhat of the right idea, but it conflicted with what he learned of the Legion. In retrospect, Vulpes definitely had the right idea; pleasure was meant to be shared.

"So, the Legion was the complete opposite of your people," Six frowned. "How old were you when you joined? Was it lonely?"

She seemed to be warming up to the conversation and unfolded her legs. The Courier continued to eat, letting him know that she was much more at ease. And she asked about him – how he felt, how lonely it must have been – and he realized that perhaps, he was something more than a footstool.

"I was in my thirties," he replied. "Adjusting was difficult."

He didn't want to talk about it, but if she asked, he would have to answer.

"Did others have a hard time adjusting?" Six asked.

"Homosexuals, mostly," he shrugged, "It's not something you can just turn off."

Six shook her head and looked down at the floor.

"Someone should tell my husband that," she groused.

Lanius chuckled.

"In his mind, attraction to another man is wrong," he said. Lanius wondered if Vulpes shared what happened when he was a child with her. Did she know why he fought his sexuality so hard? Did she know about the shame and fear, and how Lanius added to it?

It was strange, talking with her about this. If she got Vulpes to admit that he had a desire for other men, wouldn't this pose a threat to her marriage?

"I want him to be happy with who he is," she admitted, "to embrace that part of himself. He's not happy right now. And he's obviously bothering you all the time."

Lanius blinked at her in surprise. She was certainly more perceptive than she let on, and apparently wanted him to be comfortable as well. He took a sip of water as he thought.

"Would an orgy help him out?" Six asked.

Lanius sputtered and coughed as he swallowed wrong. In between bouts of laughter, he attempted to catch his breath.

"I was serious!" the Courier exclaimed.

"I know," he chucked, "I think an orgy would be a crowd." Vulpes wasn't going to open himself up in front of that many people.

"So what do you suggest?" she glowered.

"Maybe if he saw you engaging in homosexual behavior," he mused, "he would be more accepting of it."

Six screwed her face into a look of disgust.

"No," she frowned, "Kissing a woman? I would throw up everywhere."

"That's mature."

"Just because I don't like women like that doesn't make me a homophobe or prude," she snapped.

Lanius nodded in agreement. The Courier was about twenty years younger than him, and she wasn't always going to be mature. He wondered if she would say the same thing in front of the Scribe.

The Courier tore open a package of snack cakes, and began to eat them. She didn't offer to share.

"You could invite someone to join both of you," he suggested, "someone you both trust and are comfortable with."

Six munched on her snack cake in thought.

"Well, maybe I trust you," she concluded.

The room was suddenly too warm.

Lanius focused on the wall in front of him. He was not going to look at that woman, not after what she said.

"Nothing to say to that?" Six asked.

"No."

The Courier stretched and yawned.

"Well, it's something to think about," she shrugged.

He was thinking about it, intently. Two beautiful twenty-somethings asking a man in his forties to join them? This couldn't be true.

Lanius shook his head. One twenty-something asked him, not two. And the other one would most certainly be horrified at the suggestion, and perhaps, secretly in favor of having a threesome would be his dirty secret.

The Courier announced that she was going to bed, before standing and tugging on his arm in the direction of the bed in the corner. Lanius pulled his arm back, the place where she touched him burning. He watched as she stomped her foot and rolled her eyes at him.

"There's room here," she sighed, "no sense in being uncomfortable. Nothing's gonna happen anyway."

Other than a painful erection that would last the night, he assumed. And he was already thinking about what she said earlier, meaning that sharing the bed would only make things worse.

"You're in the bed," he ordered, "and I will sleep in front of the door."

Lanius watched as the Courier shrugged and laid down in the bed. Sighing, he stood and made his way to the door. As he took his place there, he stared at the dying fire.

Lanius doubted he'd sleep at all.

* * *

"You're getting better at it," Crassius nodded.

Marcus huffed as he stumbled again, and Fox caught him. There was surprising strength in Vulpes' arms; he found himself leaning on the man more than he cared to admit. He was weak like a child, and embarrassed for it. Gods help him; he'd forgotten how to walk properly.

Still embarrassing yet was the compassionate face of the man he had an affair with. Had he forgotten that he pinned him down and sodomized him? With this man, Marcus committed the greatest unnatural shame of his life.

Yet he found himself curious that Crassius waved it off as if it were nothing. This must mean that it was consensual, and if it was, it complicated things quite a bit.

Simply put, he found himself wanting Fox. Always had.

But, Vulpes was married, and this woman could be yet another complication. Of course, said woman could be a cover; it often was for the unnatural man. He had to worry about his fellow guard, however. Marcus had the suspicion that there was something more between them.

The gates to Vegas loomed ahead of them, the man outside them greeting the group like he saw them often, and then opening the gate.

"This is Freeside," Crassius said.

They stepped over the threshold into another world. Though the streets were crowded with vendors closing their shops for the day, they were not dirty. It smelled of earth, of humanity and clean food. As they made their way through the crowd, various people turned to greet them. When they rounded a corner, a pack of barefoot children ran by.

"Fox!" one of them called, "you got a haircut!"

"Or is he going bald?"

"People don't get bald that fast, stupid!"

A woman with a mohawk shushed the children and ushered them into the large fort nearby. Sighing, she turned to greet them.

"You're not looking well," she frowned.

"Ran into some trouble," Vulpes shrugged.

"Apparently, trouble is into shaving eyebrows and leaving surgical scars," the woman deadpanned.

With a sigh, Vulpes ran his hand over his bare brow.

"The eyebrows were not necessary," he admitted.

Marcus resisted the urge to feel if his were absent as well.

"There may be some residual neurological damage," Vulpes murmured, casting a glace over toward him.

The woman gave him a look of pity, and Marcus frowned. He was not to be pitied.

"What are the symptoms?" she asked.

She stepped forward toward him and told him to look ahead. Standing on the tips of her toes, the woman shone a light into his eyes.

"Somewhat impaired coordination," Vulpes replied, "loss of fine motor skills, requiring more detailed examination. Memory loss of approximately four to five years."

Marcus swallowed. Had he truly forgotten so much?

"You can come back in the morning, if you want," the woman nodded, "we can test the extent of the damage."

"I don't care," Marcus mumbled. He didn't want to know any more.

Vulpes and the woman exchanged a quick, worried look, and the group was on their way again.

"You do not have to be afraid," Crassius declared, "whatever happens, I'm with you."

Marcus had no reply. He didn't want either of them to know that he wasn't just afraid; he was terrified. The person who he was no longer existed, and he was left to pick up the pieces of a broken life.

The gates to the Strip opened, and he was hit with the full force of its music and lights. Could he truly make his home in such a place?

They ushered him toward the tallest building and opened the door. Inside the Lucky 38, it was cool and quiet; it appeared to have been closed to the public for years. He was taken to an elevator – something he'd only heard about before – and they rode it up to their destination.

"Six will know how to help you," Vulpes declared, "she's dealt with this, and in much worse ways."

And now, he would be receiving help from a woman. He wasn't sure what to think of this, even if said woman was the undeclared queen of Vegas.

The elevator opened to a greeting area that branched off into separate rooms. A woman stepped out of the room to the right, a bright smile on her face.

"Hello, friends!" she called, giving them a wave.

She wore a pale, blue dress and a set of ivory heels to match the pearls around her neck. She also wore a power fist, and Marcus chuckled. Did she even know how to use it?

"This is Veronica," Crassius introduced, "Brotherhood of Steel Scribe. She's tougher than she looks."

Marcus nodded. If Crassius said the woman was tough, then she was tough.

"Who're you introducing me to?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Veronica shuffled over to Vulpes and gave him an inappropriately long stare, then gasped when she realized what was wrong.

"Your eyebrows are gone!"

Vulpes nodded.

Veronica ushered them into the kitchen where she said they had to explain everything. There, in the kitchen, sat the Burned Man himself, talking with a Followers doctor. Marcus was glad that he had been warned about him; his first instinct was to attack.

He sat at the end of the table farthest from the Burned Man, while Vulpes peered back into the hallway.

"Where's my wife?" he asked.

Veronica sat down at the table and began to swing her legs under her chair.

"She's out," she smiled, "some guy got on the radio and said that they should 'settle things', so she took Lanius out to go see what was going on."

Vulpes' jaw tensed, and he turned to directly glare at the Burned Man.

"You let my wife run off alone with a rapist," he hissed.

Graham put his reading aside and met his glare.

"Would it have been any different had either you or I gone with her?" he challenged.

With a huff, Vulpes stormed out of the room and into the room next to them, while Graham shook his head and sighed. Marcus heard shuffling in the other room, and the unmistakable sound of a bag being packed. And though he had just sat down, Marcus gathered his feet beneath him and stood.

He looked over and saw that Crassius had the same idea. They wouldn't let Vulpes run off on his own; it was good to know that Crassius was a man of action as well.

"Where are we going to go then?" Marcus asked.

"The Divide," Veronica shrugged.

All of the movement in the suite ceased, and a string of curses took the place of the absent sound. Marcus stared at the floor; he'd never heard or seen Fox so furious.

"Looks like we're going to the Divide, then," Crassius nodded.

Marcus shook his head with a sigh. Damn it, he was going too.


	15. Chapter 15

A/n: Hey everyone! Sorry for not updating sooner. It's been the last month of classes, and right now, it's the last week of classes. On top of that, I'm moving across town in a few weeks. So it's been very hectic!

I should hopefully have more time to write this summer. Thank you all for being patient and supportive as always!

* * *

She didn't deserve this, especially not the morning after fornicating with a man to whom she didn't belong.

Ulysses eyed the crow on the spit in front of him with distaste. He would have to have a chat with this woman's husband, whoever he was.

Behind him, the door to the small building opened. Lanius stepped out, his full armor already in place. He carried Courier Six in his arms toward the campfire and set her down on a rock in front of it. She fussed with her coat; readjusting the lapels and making sure the waist tie was exactly even on both sides.

"I'm happy you decided to stay," Six smiled.

He met her gaze and nodded. Very soon, she wouldn't be.

Sighing, Ulysses handed her a piece of crow meat on a spit. He would tell her husband about what was going on, and as soon as he was done, he'd be gone before they could think of retaliating.

She thanked him and took the meat, eating daintily without making a mess. Wherever she was from, it was a 'civilized' area – if animals in clothes could be considered civilized. What was man, but an animal?

"You don't talk much," the Courier pouted.

"No."

Ulysses didn't talk unless it was important. As a frumentarius, he talked to people for hours, becoming fast friends through lies. But it was all an act; he merely imitated the very things Vulpes did to his own tribe. And when he became the monster he despised, he realized that the only words left in him were bitter.

"You don't talk much either," Six complained, twisting around to pout at Lanius.

There was no reply, and they waited in silence as the Courier finished eating. When she grabbed the last of the meat, Ulysses snuffed the fire out. He was eager to get going now that he had a direction of sorts.

Though what he would do after escorting her back to Vegas, he wasn't sure.

Ulysses stared back at the Divide and sighed. After all that time, all that frustration, all of those questions he asked, he still had no answers. The person who in one instant appeared to be a beacon for humanity turned out to be like all the others in the next.

He followed next to the Butcher's left side, where he would be the most vulnerable. It felt strange walking alongside such a feared man, protecting his weak side and the person he carried. Even now, he still felt some of that old fear. Seeing the man's face, however, was de-mystifying. Lanius didn't look like he assumed, and it was clear that Caesar's stories of horrible scars and disfigurement were only to stir up stories.

Lanius shifted the Courier on his back, and she tucked her leg further around his waist, gripping the belt tying his armor on with her bare toes. The movement shouted 'guilty' and filled him with disgust. There were no morals or honor among the Legion, NCR, and Mojave; all were dissolute.

They continued forward, traveling down the lonesome road toward Vegas. As they walked, Ulysses glanced down and saw footprints of their approach in the dust. Nothing came by in the days that followed; the road was abandoned, and few would dare to walk it for years to come.

But he knew the road like an old friend, and it would be sunset by the time they reached the Mojave.

* * *

Yes Man couldn't identify the man that called Six out to the Divide for a challenge.

Vulpes picked up his pace; if the all-knowing robot had no idea, then it could mean serious trouble. And, she was running around out there with a volatile sexual predator, nonetheless. Graham should have gone with her.

But there was the lingering doubt in the back of his mind that not even Graham would be capable of fully protecting her. He wasn't young anymore, and his failed execution certainly made him age faster. Vulpes asked the Think Tank for new skin for Graham; he still didn't know why he did it.

It wasn't because he lit the man on fire. That was done and over. As long as Vulpes knew everything was fine, then it was fine. Vulpes torched him and Graham's Legion had him nearly put to death twice. They were even.

So it made no sense that he did it, other than a whim. Vulpes supposed that he was perhaps just in one of his charitable moods at the time.

The unaware Graham traveled two steps behind him, to the right. He seemed to be keeping the pace just fine. Behind him, Crassius walked next to a stumbling Marcus. It took tripping and falling directly on his face for Marcus to accept the aid of his fellow guard, and even then, he barely touched him.

Vulpes wasn't stupid; he saw Marcus eying him. He knew exactly what Marcus wanted, and exactly what he wasn't going to give out. His marriage for Six wasn't some sort of cover.

It was upsetting to have his history be so different from his friend's. While they were all on one page of the same book, Marcus was dozens and dozens of chapters back, completely ignorant of his role in the story, and trying desperately to catch up.

And how could you tell a man that was clearly closeted that he not only came out, but was married?

For once, Vulpes didn't have adequate words. He had half the mind to tell Marcus everything, but it could be detrimental to the situation. From his awkwardness around other men, it was obvious that Marcus wasn't ready to admit his sexuality to himself, much less others.

And from that, he was powerless. He had no idea what made Marcus finally accept who he was. It wasn't as if Vulpes could make Marcus have a conversation with his own brain.

The group continued onward in silence. Boots crunched on the crumbling road, punctuated by an occasional cry of a bird perched on a yucca plant. Marcus stumbled along, hissing a curse with every other misstep. Nobody needed to say anything; the praetorian was angry enough at himself without platitudes from those he held back.

Hours passed in this way until the sun began to set over the horizon.

"We should make camp," Crassius called.

Vulpes waved his hand in dismissal. If they wanted to, then fine. He wasn't going to waste time, and a little bit of darkness wouldn't stop him. He was trained for a sleepless night out in the desert anyway.

Then again, if Six was violated, it would have happened already.

His stomach lurched in terror, and Vulpes sped up. What if all he could find was her violated, destroyed corpse?

Like hell he would stop. Like hell he would sleep. He didn't care if he left them in the dust.

The group did its best to keep up, but judging by the sound of their footsteps, Marcus fell behind. On the road ahead, silhouetted by the sun, he saw a pair of travelers.

As they drew closer, he made out a third figure carried on the back of the taller one. Vulpes sped up and made out the details of a mockup of Lanius' armor – the figure on the man's back a woman with long, dark hair who wore leather armor.

It had to be them. What happened to Six?

Another person walked alongside them, someone Vulpes thought he would never see again, especially after learning that Graham was alive and well. Ulysses was more dangerous to Six than Lanius.

He sped up until he was all but jogging to get there; he didn't want them to think he was panicked – and certainly wasn't; he was furious.

Six peered from behind Lanius' back and called to him, squirming to get off. Lanius didn't permit her to move until they were closer, and Vulpes saw that she was missing a boot, and the bare foot was purple and swollen. After a brief struggle, Lanius finally let her slide off his back.

Six took one step forward before yelping and hopping on one foot toward him. She wanted to see him so badly that she didn't wait for him to reach her first. This was definitely his wife, always eager to be near him, as if his touch sustained her.

And when Six hopped into his arms and embraced him, Vulpes knew that without a doubt, he felt the same indescribable need.

He leaned over and buried his hands in her hair, untying it and letting it free. She smelled a bit like Lanius, but Vulpes swallowed his jealousy as he rationalized that she would have to, being on his back with an injured foot.

And that brought him to his next concern. He looked up to level Lanius with a glare, quickly noting Ulysses' baffled face – a good look for the snotty deserter.

"What in the hell did you do to her?" he asked.

Lanius stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms. He didn't remove his helmet.

Six squirmed in his arms as she shifted her weight around on her good foot.

"He did nothing," she sighed, "I did it to myself. Tripped up the stairs."

He frowned at Lanius again.

"So why didn't you catch her before she fell?"

"He was like, twenty feet away!" Six groused, "He couldn't catch me."

"Good," Vulpes grumbled, "you ought to stay away. Can't trust you within ten feet of my wife – or me, for that matter."

Lanius visibly deflated under his armor, and Vulpes felt a twinge of regret before squashing it. He got off easy with Six answering for him. Lanius ought to answer the damn questions on his own.

With his wife relatively unharmed, this left another matter to consider:

Why was Ulysses here?

A thought came to him as quickly as he pondered the question. Perhaps, Ulysses was the challenger. After all, he was a courier for some time as one of the frumentarii. And judging by the strange look on his face, Six must have put him in his place.

Good girl. She could do anything when she decided it was important.

* * *

He watched as the Courier snuggled into Vulpes Inculta's arms. For all appearances, the man seemed to be completely smitten with her, going so far as to give the Butcher a thorough rebuke – in his usual style of being a spoiled punk – for allowing her to be harmed.

What was a girl like this doing with Vulpes? And what was she doing cheating on him with Lanius, of all people?

Behind Vulpes, a pair of Caesar's personal praetorians and Joshua Graham caught up. Vulpes lit Graham on fire. Why were they traveling together?

Ulysses concluded that this was what madness had to look like.

"You're married?" he asked, wanting to absolutely confirm that he wasn't insane.

"Yes," Vulpes drawled, "and hello to you too. Excellent job you did on your mission, by the way."

He clapped Graham on the back, and Graham gave him a sideways glare.

"I hope you taught this one to at least knock," he snorted.

Vulpes chuckled.

"And I certainly recommend for your sake that you do not attempt to complete your mission," Graham nodded. His eyes met Ulysses', and though he could tell that Graham was absolutely serious, there was an element of kindness he had never seen on the man's face before.

The bandages covering his mouth moved ever so slightly, and the exposed, charred skin on the outer corners of his eyes wrinkled into crow's feet.

Graham was smiling.

But Ulysses wasn't. He tried not to when he saw Vulpes, but at times, even the person he hated more than anything charmed him into laughing.

This time, Ulysses had the power to destroy. And this time, he could combat all the lies with truth and all of its poison.

"I hate to break up the happy reunion," he started, already telling a lie along with the truth. "But you should probably know that your wife has been sleeping around on you."

Vulpes paused, his arm hovering over the Courier's waist. His face grew serious – the look he got before he murdered someone for failure – and the look was directed at him.

"I did no such thing," Ulysses grumbled, "even before I knew she was married there was no desire of any sort."

Aesthetically speaking, she was beautiful. But Ulysses was so consumed and tangled and backwards and sideways that he rarely had any such desires. His heart and everything else was numb, save the bitter hate that boiled beneath the surface of his skin.

"Why do you think she chose the Butcher –"

"I directed that," Graham interrupted, "for her safety and protection. Other than a sprained ankle, my trust was seemingly well placed."

Six glanced around in confusion, playing dumb to what he said.

"What's he mean?" she asked, looking up at Vulpes and tugging on the sleeve of his coat.

Vulpes stared down at her as if she was poison and backed away.

"He says you've had an affair with Lanius," he murmured.

The Courier gasped and recoiled in shock. In the next second, she clung to Vulpes, telling him it could never be true, pleading until she was crying and shaking and begging him to listen to her. But Vulpes didn't reply and simply stared in Lanius' direction.

"I would never," the Butcher declared.

"Say that to my face," Vulpes hissed.

Lanius wrenched his helmet off, his face red and furious.

"I would never!"

Vulpes took a moment to process this, while the Courier turned to Ulysses.

She accused him of lies, of being bitter and mean, and only the latter two were true. All the while, Vulpes stayed silent. Ulysses wondered if he would go off alone and put a bullet in his own head or hang himself with this news.

The thought excited him and made him sick all at once. And before he knew it, his hands were shaking from the knowledge that he was a horrible person.

The Courier ran out of words and became a crying mess on the front of her husband's shirt. Vulpes took one last look at Lanius before turning to Ulysses.

"None of you are lying," he concluded.

One of the praetorians stepped forward – the tan, dark-haired one; Ulysses had seen him before but never took note of his name – and shook his head.

"How is that possible?" he asked.

"There was no affair," Vulpes answered, "yet something happened to make Ulysses think there was. Lanius has the tact of a deathclaw, lying would never occur as an option to Six, and though Ulysses is cunning, I trained him how to lie, and thus, would know if he was doing so."

Ulysses swallowed. He didn't hear what happened after he left that night. His assumption had to have been correct, however.

The Courier relaxed and hugged her husband tightly. With everything figured out, he hugged her back without reservation.

"And that means you are mistaken," Vulpes shrugged, "my wife treats me very well and would never do such a thing."

That was when Ulysses said something terrible.

"Does she treat you well like your instructor did when you were a child?"

And if there was a God, he assumed he would look like Graham did in that moment – stern, judging eyes full of disappointment.

But it was too late, and the words were out of his mouth, coloring the air with a bitter cloud of hatred. Ulysses was an awful person, just like the rest of them.

* * *

He heard words that he hadn't heard in years – words from a forgotten, destroyed tribe; words he heard before from a woman who looked like Vulpes, and shared his temper.

Graham always suspected that the tall, long-haired woman he kept as a personal plaything for a few years was mother of the young decanus Caesar saved. They were too similar, and now that Vulpes cursed Ulysses in his native tongue, there was no question in his mind.

The son of the woman who disemboweled herself in defiance in front of his eyes continued to swear in all manner of tribal tongues, dragging the Butcher inch by inch as the man tried to hold him back.

Graham was disappointed.

By that point, Vulpes switched to the dialect of the Twisted Hairs, telling Ulysses the things he did to his family, and the things that Ulysses failed to protect them from. He cursed and told him exactly what he did to Ulysses' sister – lies; he was sent away on another mission immediately after – and from the tightening of his jaw, it seemed that Ulysses believed at least some of it.

"Get him!" Six shouted, "don't take that shit from anybody!"

With her word, Lanius let go, and Vulpes streaked forward.

"Enough!"

The pair stopped short of each other and turned to Graham. Sighing, Graham stared them down.

"Enough," he repeated, gentler this time.

But Vulpes wasn't done, and sent one final retort as he lowered his pistol, still refusing to holster it.

"I hid," he admitted, "I was four years old and I hid. You were an adult, and you did the same."

Ulysses visibly deflated and stared at the ground. Vulpes won.

"Enough," Graham sighed, "there's enough hate in the world."

Still, the Courier continued to glare at Ulysses; he crossed a line where she would never forgive, and Graham's disappointment only grew. These were the leaders of free Mojave.

He felt old.

Ulysses looked at him as if he had gone insane; he shared a message of peace, love, and coexistence. This certainly didn't coincide with the reputation Graham had before.

He put it out of his mind that the man in front of him was the one that trained the White Legs, and told them to attack his people. Ulysses was as lost and broken as Vulpes, in equal and different ways.

"We should head back," he suggested, "that ankle needs medical attention."

With that, Vulpes bent down to allow Six to climb onto his back. Graham was tired, but it was better to move than to stay in this place any longer. Together, they took off toward the Mojave and the Lucky 38. The Courier perched on Vulpes' back turned to give Ulysses a parting curse.

"And you!" she hissed, "You can come around when you're sorry. I don't want to see you if you aren't!"

"You'll never see him again," Vulpes snorted, "he is never sorry for anything he does, and blames others for whatever he's caused."

With that, they left Ulysses behind.

The Dead Horses had a superstition that went along with their belief in the taboo places. It was said that if something of great energy happened in one place – a birth, death, celebration, argument, fight – that the energy would stay in that place for years to come, sometimes, indefinitely.

Graham couldn't help but wonder if this superstition had something to it. The road behind them felt so heavy and dark. Perhaps, the seeds of a taboo place were planted that day.


	16. Chapter 16

A/n: Porn in the third section! Yay porn!

* * *

He sighed as he watched one of the Followers bring a wheelchair over to Six. There wasn't anything Vulpes could do while they looked at her ankle. Minutes passed as he stood in waiting. He was unused to not having attention. Surely, someone would come talk to him.

To his right, he caught a glimpse of someone interesting. Julie Farkas disappeared into her office at the Old Mormon Fort, and Vulpes found himself trailing after her for a distraction. Without a second thought, he opened the door as soon as it closed behind her. She must have known he followed her.

On the days she took the care to spike her mohawk, Julie Farkas was feistier. Vulpes knew from careful observation that she would shoot him down if he didn't watch the exact way he said things.

"And how have you been, Julie?" he asked. The wooden door shut behind him, leaving the room dim.

The doctor shrugged and dried her hands on a towel.

"That question has a rather complicated answer," she snorted.

He took the time to sit down at the large, wooden table across from the entryway. He was seated; it announced that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and that she would be quite rude to not sit as well. Vulpes motioned to the chair across the table from him. Six was busy; he had time. Crossing her arms, Julie sighed and looked down at the floor with a frown.

"After knowing who you are," she admitted, "it's difficult to look at you the same way. It's difficult to trust you. And I don't think I'm the only one that feels that way."

Vulpes fought to not roll his eyes. This again.

"And yet, you saved my life," he intoned, watching as the doctor gave him a small smile.

"Yeah," Julie shrugged, "I did."

He pushed the chair across the table with his foot, scooting it back in a short, unspoken order for her to sit. Julie sat down, leaned back, and with arms crossed, stared him down.

"So, those books I let you borrow," she drawled, "any chance I can get them back?"

From asking the question alone, Julie warmed a little. She leaned in on the table, her elbows still crossed in front of her. Vulpes smiled and leaned in, intentionally mimicking her posture to portray empathy.

"They're in Flagstaff somewhere," he said, "so getting them back could be a challenge."

Julie Farkas frowned. She had to know that the books were gone. The woman wasn't an idiot.

"Of course," Vulpes continued, "if you really wanted, I could pull some strings and have them sent for at great time and expense. It would cost you, though."

He leaned in closer and uncrossed his legs, letting his leg slide between her knees as he gave her his most special smile.

"They were my books to begin with!"

He smiled and laughed as Julie fumed at the unwanted contact. Uncomfortable, Julie scooted her chair back and stood.

"But if you can get them back," she insisted, "I'd appreciate it. Or if your wife could do something about it, that would work too."

Vulpes nodded and stood as well, just as Six entered the fort on a crutch. She beamed at Julie, blissfully unaware of what just happened. The doctor greeted her enthusiastically, suddenly ignoring his existence – as if it would atone for his somewhat inappropriate conduct. They chatted for a moment, then Six took her leave, dragging him with her.

Vulpes took one last look back at Julie, the one that got away, before leaving with his wife. Out in the sun, his mark sparkled around Six's neck, reminding him of his place.

"You looking at my boobs again?" Six drawled.

"Always."

He didn't give a damn who got away.

Six stopped in her tracks, leaned on her crutch, and looked up at him expectantly. Knowing what she wanted, Vulpes swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the Strip.

"Why walk when I've got a man to do that for me?" she singsonged, stretching her arms out.

Catcalls rose up from the Kings wandering Freeside as Six wrapped her arm around his shoulder and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It made Vulpes feel that he lived a charmed life, until thoughts of the previous evening brought him crashing back down to earth.

How did Ulysses know about his instructor, anyway? He didn't go around telling everyone what happened to him as a child. In fact, he told no one, save a very select few from his new life.

And if Ulysses knew, then Caesar might have known. And if Caesar had known, then why didn't he try to do something about it? Why did he stay silent?

"I'll repay you when we get back home," Six whispered. Her breath caressed his ear, making the back of his neck break out in tingles.

Vulpes turned his attention toward much more interesting, pleasurable things.

"And how will you repay me?" he asked.

The gate to the Strip opened, and before she could answer, one of the chairmen jogged over to them.

"Got an invitation for you and your friends tonight," he smiled, "drinks on the house at the Tops to celebrate putting that no-good challenger in his place."

"Free drinks!" Six cheered, wiggling in his arms and making it difficult to hold on to her.

"In exchange for a story or two," the man laughed, "See you around eight?"

"Absolutely!"

They said their goodbyes, and Vulpes carried Six up the stairs to the Lucky 38. Just like that, her attention was diverted, and she was talking about what to wear and how Veronica could wear her dress and it would be so nice, rather than talking about what sorts of things she would do to repay him for carrying her.

The door shut behind them and Vulpes silenced her with a kiss. But he couldn't change her mind again, and soon, she was pushing him away.

"I don't have time," she insisted, "gotta wash my hair, and Veronica and I have to pick out our dresses. And I wonder if that red dress still fits?"

That red dress made him think of blowjobs.

She clearly meant to torture him. What had he done to deserve such cruelty?

Sighing, Vulpes carried her over to the elevator and set her down inside. After the doors shut, he made one more attempt on Six, pinning her to the wall with a kiss. He picked her up once again, wrapped her legs around his waist, and cast a side-eye at the elevator's progress.

They had time, maybe. And if the elevator opened when they were in the middle of things, it wasn't as if they'd be naked.

"In the elevator?" Six whined. She read his mind and seemed displeased.

"No place is sacred," he growled, planting another kiss along the side of her jaw.

But the elevator seemed to work against him, and it opened at their destination. Six scrambled away, grabbed her crutch, and set out to look for Veronica, leaving a confused Vulpes behind.

He had needs, and it seemed that she had equal needs. Then something happened to switch it off. Even last night, when they returned to the Lucky 38, they did nothing. Then again, he wasn't particularly in the mood after everything that happened with Ulysses. But what sated her?

A horrifying thought occurred to him.

Vulpes dashed into the next room, hauled Six out of her chair, and threw her over his shoulder. She screeched in surprise, but relaxed against his shoulder, as if she expected it. When they were in the safety of their room, Vulpes closed the door and set her down.

"Hello," he frowned.

"Hi."

A long pause, and Six turned toward the door. Vulpes put his hands on either side of her shoulders against the door. She wasn't going anywhere.

"Can I help you?" Six sighed.

He searched her eyes for any deception, but couldn't decipher her thoughts. She seemed as she always was, though somewhat annoyed.

"You seem rather sated lately," he intoned, leaning in further.

"I don't understand."

"What really happened when you were gone?" he asked.

"I figured some things out," Six snapped.

Vulpes leaned in closer, until she had to stare directly up to look at him. Before he could reply, she stood on the tips of her toes.

"If you think you can use your size to intimidate me," she hissed, "then you're sadly mistaken. I'm not scared of you. You know why?"

Without warning, Six seized his manhood through his pants.

"This is mine," she growled, "it always has been, and it always will be. And I don't have to worry about it. You – all of you – are mine."

Six released him, batted his arm to the side, and left the room, leaving him dumbfounded in the doorway. Vulpes was terrified of what she had become, and strangely aroused at her display of power. Of course he wasn't going anywhere, wouldn't do anything she didn't want him to do – which he was okay with. Had there ever been a doubt in her mind?

Come to think of it, she had been acting strange ever since Lanius showed up.

Oh.

He was an idiot.

So whatever dislike she had for Lanius – rightfully so – had been dealt with. Meaning, she didn't have to defend her territory, nor did she have to wear him out to make absolutely sure that he didn't run off on her. But doing such a thing had only crossed his mind, and he would never act on such foolish impulses. It would only go as far as his eyes, and even then, he shut it off relatively quickly.

But the fleeting moment of jealousy he had – that incurable anxiety and worry – was something that she had experienced since the beginning of their marriage. And he invited it in, no less.

He was insane to ever have doubted her, if only for a moment.

She might have owned him, but he owned her as well.

* * *

He didn't see Six again until it was time to go to the Tops. Despite the overwhelming urge, Vulpes kept his distance from her. He'd talk to her about his suspicions after she had a few drinks in her, and truthfully, after he had a few drinks in him.

Vulpes wanted no secrets. He was coming out.

Six emerged from the elevator, and Vulpes figured Veronica was behind her, but didn't bother to check. The red dress still fit Six – as if there was any doubt in his mind that it would – and she looked even more beautiful than she had on their first 'date.' The hair tied to the side in a loose ponytail was different, and though he wasn't a fan of her wearing her hair up, this way was acceptable. It reached past her waist; she hadn't cut her hair since they met, and likely, cutting it never occurred to her. He certainly didn't want to tell her, at least, until her hair got long enough to cover her ass. Then, he'd have a problem.

He looped his arm through hers, and watched as Arcade took Veronica by the arm.

"Queer and queerer!" she beamed, giving the doctor a hug.

"Which one is which, I wonder?" Arcade mused. They shared a conspiratory look and giggled in unison.

Vulpes snorted and pressed the button for the elevator.

"You seem to be in a race for that title," he chuckled.

And while everyone had a laugh, he found himself oddly missing Cass' cackle. The group stepped into the elevator and rode their way down to the casino level of the Lucky 38. Six snuggled closer to his side, accidentally running her forehead over the muzzle of his concealed pistol in its shoulder holster.

"Can't you put this somewhere else?" she whispered.

Vulpes grunted in the negative.

"Like your pants or something?" Six continued.

"No room."

"Down the other side, then," she groused.

"You're asking me to put ten pounds of gun into two pounds of already occupied pants," he grumbled, "keep your pistol between your breasts, then."

"Doesn't fit."

"Exactly."

She gave him a sly grin, her eyes flickering to the front of his pants then innocently back toward the elevator doors. The innocent girl she had once been was gone; he ruined her. But, he did ruin her just for himself, so Vulpes figured it evened out.

Behind them, Marcus shifted uncomfortably. Unable to hide his jealousy, he stared at the floor, while the rest of the elevator remained silent, as if they didn't overhear that which he cared less about others overhearing.

It was then that Vulpes noticed that Graham was there. He wondered who talked the man into joining, since he didn't drink. Veronica and Arcade would have asked, but wouldn't have pestered him after he declined – which he most surely did – the first time.

Nobody but Six could talk a Mormon into going to a booze-fueled party at a casino.

Shaking his head, Vulpes waited with Six as the others left the elevator, then led her out into the casino level. With a proper bandaging, she was able to slowly walk alongside him.

"Don't like this," Six grumbled, "can't you carry me?"

"It won't heal if you don't use it."

Sighing, she bit her lip and followed the group out onto the Strip. It didn't appear that she was in much pain, but just going slowly. Six was always moving, always wanted to get to her destination fast, be it a location or attaining a goal. The injury forced her to slow down, and he knew that he'd have to watch her so she didn't make it worse. Her eagerness was both good and bad.

Eventually, they made it to the Tops and stepped inside. The doorman approached them with a smile, welcoming them in.

"If you have any weapons," the guard nodded, "I'd ask that you disarm."

"I can't," Marcus smirked.

Vulpes chuckled as the guard shot him a confused look. It seemed that Marcus was still the same person; a bit of a joker, and somewhat cocky.

Vulpes shrugged off his jacket for show, and everyone around them immediately caught sight of his large, black gun against his white shirt. For those that knew him, this was normal; when he spied on the Strip, he much preferred to have his weapon travel with him back to the hotel.

A man came out from behind the front counter to approach the group. It was Swank, Benny's second – the man who tried to do right by Six and played by the rules of whatever establishment was in charge at the time.

"Whoa, whoa!" Swank interjected, "we don't disarm these guys. They're friends of the management, you dope."

The guard turned to Swank and hesitantly handed Vulpes' jacket back.

"We're letting a guy walk in here with a .44 mag?"

Swank's face fell, and then he shook his head and shrugged.

"Yep."

"I'm sure nobody will give me a reason to use it," Vulpes smiled, "this is a classy establishment, right?"

"Absolutely," the guard nodded.

Vulpes wrapped his arm around the Courier's and stepped toward the VIP area. Swank gave the group quick directions then fell back to speak with Six.

"Hurt your ankle, Kitkat?" he asked.

"Fell up the stairs of a nuclear silo bunker trying to escape a warhead detonation," she sighed.

Swank let out a low whistle and opened the door for them.

"Sounds like quite the adventure," he marveled, "You sure you should be walking on that?"

"Gotta use it a little," Six shrugged.

He seemed satisfied with her answer and said a quick goodbye before returning to his duties.

The VIP area was quiet and dimly lit. Lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating rare bottles of spirits and casting a warm glow from the bottles' colored contents. The room was empty of occupants, save the proprietor of the establishment and the ghouls he kept on staff. This wasn't about making money off a celebrity appearance; more likely, it was about staying friendly with the government. And in this, Vulpes was sure that Six would be won over. She looked around in wonder at the glowing bottles, and discretely marveled at how the light made her ring and mark sparkle.

Vulpes made a mental note to see about finding a way to set up a similar setting, possibly in the penthouse. If he wasn't mistaken, there were satin bed sheets up there. Yes Man would know all the resources available to do something of the sort.

Benny stood from his seat at the large table in the center of the room and stepped forward to greet them.

"Looks like all of you came," he smiled, "that's great! We don't know some of you that well yet."

As Benny approached them, pair of servers came out and ushered the group to their seats.

"There's the lovely couple," Benny nodded, "Mr. and Mrs. Vegas, eh?"

"More like Mrs. Independent," Vulpes replied.

Benny chuckled and shook his hand, then turned to gently shake the Courier's.

"Feisty gal," he said, "but a class act all the way. Probably good you took over the plans. You've got a heart of gold."

They sat down at the table, ordered drinks, and chatted among themselves. Six recounted her story of how she went to the Divide and faced off with the challenger, twisting her ankle in the process. With this recount, she remembered different details – the old world general in the silo, the deathclaws on the highway – and used Lanius' name. His identity wasn't known outside their circle, but it was out before Vulpes could stop it. Benny stayed quiet on the issue, and instead, asked Vulpes where the hell his hair went. It seemed that Benny would entertain their secret.

So Vulpes and Crassius recounted their travels, leaving out the fact that Vulpes' brain outed him and held conditions to their reunion, as well as their deal with the Think Tank to create new technology.

The new skin?

It was a surprise. If Graham knew of the plans ahead of time, he would most surely attempt to dissuade him. Sitting around in pain for the rest of his life was foolish.

"I never get the adventures," Benny sighed.

Vulpes almost asked him about the time he held up a courier outside of Goodsprings and shot her, but figured it would be in rather poor taste.

Marcus asked Crassius if they would have left him there – in Latin; he apparently didn't want the strangers to understand – and Crassius frowned, telling him in no uncertain terms that he would never leave him.

Vulpes wondered how they must sound to the others. Did they think that they were talking about them? By the way they fidgeted, he wagered that it made them uncomfortable to hear words they didn't understand. Only the one ghoul, Raul, didn't seem to mind.

Benny took a sip of his drink then gave him a nod, seemingly eager to turn the conversation back to a language he understood.

"What's Inculta mean, anyway?" he asked, "I mean, I get the whole Fox bit, but that one's a bit odd."

"Uncultivated," he answered, "like a wasteland. Essentially, the word referring to the desert."

"So, Desert Fox?"

Vulpes nodded.

"That's not really fierce sounding," he frowned, "I mean, no offense."

Dean Domino scowled in his seat.

"Who the hell names a kid after a Nazi?" he asked.

Vulpes shrugged as Six shot him a questioning look.

"I was named after a Nazi commander," he replied, "Erwin Rommel, nicknamed the Desert Fox."

Six scooted closer and tilted her head to the side.

"A what?"

Vulpes sighed and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he chuckled. He would spare her the history lesson.

Dean continued to scowl, while Raul simply shrugged as if he'd seen it all. He certainly saw more than Dean, who was tucked away in the Sierra Madre for centuries.

"Okay, I've got one for you," Benny chuckled, "What's the one thing you always wanted to say to someone as a secret agent guy?"

Vulpes took a sip of his drink and rolled the vodka around on his tongue in thought. It was quite the interesting question.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lanius eying him. He quickly swallowed the vodka, ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek suggestively – just once, so nobody would catch on – and held in a smirk at the Butcher's wide-eyed look.

Vulpes was such a damn tease. But, he had a question to answer, didn't he?

"Excuse me," he said, "But does my hand smell like chloroform?"

Dean and Raul burst out in laughter, while Veronica had a giggle fit on the shoulder of a horrified yet amused Arcade. Benny laughed politely, but Vulpes suspected he didn't get it.

"What's chloroform?" Six asked.

"It's a poison of sorts," he said, "if you use the right amount, you can knock someone out. Use a stronger amount, and the target dies."

"Why would you smell it?"

"That's how you use it," he shrugged, "drag them in a back alley and put something covered in chloroform over their face."

Benny stared at him in slack-jawed horror.

"Is this something I have to watch out for in my casino?" he asked.

Vulpes shook his head.

"Nobody knows what it is," he replied, "let alone how to make it."

Dean turned to give Six a crooked smile.

"So, where are you from?" he asked, "You don't seem like a Vegas kind of gal."

"I don't know," Six lamented.

"Don't know?"

"Someone shot her in the head," Arcade groused, "over a delivery."

Vulpes snickered as Benny squirmed in his seat.

"You shot her, boss?" Raul asked.

Benny pointed in the direction of Marcus and Crassius.

"Those two beat the living shit out of me already for it," he said, "I've done my time. And besides, look how great she's doing!"

Six smiled and snuggled into Vulpes' side. He wrapped his arm around her and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, right on top of the scar from being shot. Had Benny not shot her, he would have never met her, or if he did, she would have been a completely different person.

"Any guesses?" Raul asked.

He had a few, but never bothered to share. But, he was well traveled and probably had a better clue than most.

"I suspect that she might be from a Mormon town," Vulpes said, "or possibly a vault. Possibly sequestered. Maybe her family were Followers of the Apocalypse."

Six leaned in, curious as to what he would say.

"Why's that?"

"She seems to know less about some things, and more about others."

"That's vague," Dean snorted.

"When we went to a vault to take care of some issues," Vulpes elaborated, "she had somewhat of an idea of where to go. She can also read and write – very well, might I add – so she was educated. She's not a farmer's daughter."

That and she had been a virgin. She either had a religious background, was thoroughly educated about sexually transmitted diseases, or was part of a small community with scarce resources. There would be no other reason for her to not have had sex; nobody that attractive got started that late in life.

"Oh, you make me want to know more now," Six sighed, "I wish I could take just a little time off and search."

"I'll watch the place for ya," Benny smiled.

Six's wistful smile turned into a frown.

"Absolutely not," she huffed, "you'd probably get a bunch of securitrons to follow you around and play a soundtrack and narrate everything you did."

As everyone laughed, the bartender brought out more drinks. Vulpes eyed the new drink in front of him with suspicion. He didn't want to get intoxicated outside of his home; terrible things could happen if he didn't pay attention and stay sharp.

His eyes caught Graham's across the table. Graham gave him a small nod toward the drink, encouraging him to relax.

He wasn't undercover anymore. He wasn't the only person watching out for himself.

Vulpes took the glass and raised it in a silent toast to his new life.

* * *

Six stepped on shaky legs out of the elevator and tumbled toward her bedroom. In between remembering to shut the door behind her and the feeling of kisses trailing down her neck, she realized that her ankle didn't hurt her at all anymore.

"I can step on it now," she slurred.

Six showed Vulpes what she meant, and somewhere in between the buzz and tingling feeling in her limbs, there was a bit of an ouch.

"Don't do that!"

And before she knew what was going on, she felt arms around her, carrying her though the room toward the bed.

"You're going to hurt it if you step too hard," Vulpes frowned. He knelt at her feet and began to unstrap her shoe. His hands felt tingly on her foot and ankle, and Six squirmed.

As soon as the shoes were gone, his hands were clumsily creeping up her leg. But something must have bothered Vulpes, and he slumped to the floor, his arm wrapping around her legs in a dramatic hug.

"I have to tell you," he murmured.

Six stared at him and though she was holding still, her head swam. But she wanted to focus because he seemed upset and it made her upset and it worried her and it made her stomach hurt and –

What was going on?

"I'm gay," he announced.

Six stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

No, he wasn't gay. He couldn't be. There was no way he could have faked their entire relationship.

"Or, half," Vulpes continued, grumbling under his breath about screwing it up.

Oh.

So it was just that. Yeah, she knew about him being bisexual ever since they started living together. She probably knew it before he did, or at least admitted and accepted it. Still, he pitifully clung to her legs and nuzzled the side of his face against her thighs.

"When I found my brain," he explained, "it told me that I had to come to terms with who I am before we were reunited. So I did, and telling you means I kept my promise. But nothing has changed. I'm the same man you've always known. Please, don't think any different of me."

Six couldn't help but giggle, and his attention snapped to her face.

"I knew."

"You," he swallowed, "you knew?"

"Yep."

This seemed to take the wind out of his sails, as if the conversation was supposed to be dramatic. But in a few seconds, she realized where his hands were, and the Courier's mind took a different turn.

"Wanna celebrate?" she asked.

Vulpes looked up and they shared a conspiratory grin as his hands drifted higher. He already had her shoes off, so why not get the rest off as well? Still kneeling in front of her, he leaned up to give her a kiss. When they parted, he sank back to the floor, his hands sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders. A hand crept behind her back to unzip the dress.

Shaking off the chill that ran down her spine, Six stood to shrug the dress off, allowing it to pool on the floor. Vulpes wrapped his arms around her again and kissed her thighs.

Six put her hand on his head, and he looked up to meet her gaze.

"You are magnificent," he purred, "a beautiful and enchanting goddess."

A goddess? She ought to let him drink more often.

Six sat back down on the bed, and Vulpes leaned in to kiss her again. This time, she reclined back on the bed, allowing him to lean on top of her.

The room spun as he worshiped her and undressed her body. His movements were sluggish, clumsy, even, and Six had the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that drunken sex was just going to suck. But they were halfway there, so they might as well try.

It took a bit of fumbling and a light kick to the face before he got her panties off. And though they were hanging off her ankle, Six didn't care, because his mouth was down there doing those wonderful things that it did that one time when they came out of the vault.

Oh, that one time. She would suck him until her jaw ached if he did more of that.

Six wondered why this was only the second time he did it. Was this a special occasion? And, if so, then she ought to save doing things to him with her mouth for a special occasion.

That was, if she didn't like doing it in the first place, which was false. Six loved it, even if he came up to her and poked her in the face with it from time to time.

Ecstasy interrupted her thoughts, burning a numb path across her dulled nerves. It was weak under the surface, and left her with the dull ache of wanting more.

Vulpes kissed his way up her body to her mouth. Tongues met, and Six cringed at the strange flavor of his mouth. What was that, anyway?

Oh, no. Ew.

Six pushed him away and scrunched her face in disgust.

"You taste wonderful," he objected, leaning in for another kiss.

She held him at arm's length. The Courier wanted to tell him to try tasting himself and see how he liked it, but stopped as she figured that he was flexible and large enough to be possibly successful in his attempt. He gave her a strange look, and Six shook her head. Some things were better left unsaid.

"You're overdressed," she complained, eying the bulge in his pants.

Six watched him begin to undress until her head felt heavy and made her sink backward onto the bed. And honest to God, were the walls moving? She had never been this drunk before and wasn't sure if she liked being this out of control.

It took Vulpes a minute to undress but he stumbled forward, spread her legs, and hooked her ankles over his shoulders, a hand on each leg. After a few unsuccessful attempts at entering her, he gave up and let go of a leg to guide himself in.

Six sighed, closing her eyes at the familiar stretch. His hand took its place on her leg as he thrust into her. With each gasping breath he took, Six smelled vodka. The Courier opened her eyes and watched as his blurry form doubled then focused in front of her.

Vulpes' face was pink, and he was already sweating. They were both sticky and gross already and they barely started. The Courier's stomach turned, and suddenly, she wasn't quite feeling the mood anymore.

He slipped out of her and fumbled around to correct the mistake. Six just couldn't keep her eyes open – couldn't find the words or the heart to just stop because he always did his damnedest to make sure that she was satisfied.

But after a minute or so, the mood came back.

He couldn't keep a good pace, but it didn't matter too much. That amazing, indescribable feeling came back more intensely than before. Six moaned and bucked her hips upward to meet him, falling over the edge into bliss. He stilled above her and moaned along with her, his hips jerking as he emptied himself.

He was usually much better, but even drunk off his ass, it was still way better than her first time. Six lay on her back, attempting to catch her breath. The room was hot and spinning and she just didn't feel really good.

The nausea came back with a vengeance.

Six bolted upright from the bed, dragging the sheets with her. In her frenzied yanking, she tumbled into the wall. Stumbling forward, Six burst from the bedroom and cursed her damaged ankle. She had to get to the bathroom.

She wasn't that drunk, honest.

* * *

The loud bang against the wall behind him made Lanius jump. They were loud, but never were this violent.

Six stumbled into the bathroom, wearing nothing but a sheet and oblivious to his presence. Her path took her directly to the toilet, where she collapsed on the floor and retched violently.

Dumb kids couldn't hold their liquor.

The doctor warned her to stop drinking, but as soon as he said something, the Courier intentionally drank more in defiance. Not much more, but enough to make a point.

Sighing, Lanius finished pissing, then took the leather strip out of his hair and approached the ill woman. His hands gathered her hair, securing it away from her face. He didn't need to say anything.

This was her point, apparently.

Six lifted her head from the toilet, presumably to thank him, but ended up leaning forward to vomit some more. He tried not to think about her red eyes and snotty nose – possibly dripping vomit; that whiskey wanted out, and fast – and focused on holding her head up by the ponytail so she didn't drown herself.

Vulpes appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide.

"So, you are that bad, are you?" Lanius asked. It was a silly lie, but he didn't care.

"No, you're that bad," Vulpes slurred.

Lanius shook his head.

"Go to bed, Vulpes. You're drunk."

And also, naked.

But he didn't leave.

"I have this handled," the Butcher grunted.

Six lurched forward and heaved again, testing the limits of her scalp's strength.

"That hair can take a good pulling," Vulpes nodded, "but still, try to be careful."

With that, he disappeared, leaving Lanius with burning questions he wasn't prepared to know the answers to.

In the middle of her retching Six let the sheet fall to grip both sides of the toilet, exposing her breasts. With his other hand, Lanius pulled the sheet back up. Nobody ought to see that except for her husband.

What the hell was that around her ankle?

He leaned in for further inspection and regretted it. That was her underwear; she was an absolute mess.

Six retched again, and Lanius wondered what the hell happened to his life. He went from being a fierce warrior, to a powerful warlord, to a personal bodyguard, to finally, babysitting a puking kid.

She leaned her cheek on the toilet seat and attempted to catch her breath. Patting the Courier on the back, he left to get her a glass of water. There was no more retching as he traveled to the kitchen and walked back; water could make her sick again, but if she was, it would just be water.

Six sat up a bit when he returned and handed the glass to her. Lanius watched her drink; she seemed less drunk than she appeared. Perhaps her stomach was the weak part of her constitution.

His suspicions seemed to be confirmed when she retched again. He refilled the glass and handed it to her when she was done. Some of the water was bound to stay inside.

After a while, the illness seemed to settle down. Six glanced toward the door and saw it was closed.

"We've got him," she murmured, keeping her voice low.

They had who for what?

"He told me tonight," Six continued, "I just have to talk to him about the three of us. Shouldn't be that difficult."

Lanius frowned in confusion. The threesome was supposed to get Vulpes to admit that he was the way he was, not the other way around. Unless –

Unless Six wanted this to happen regardless.

The Courier seemed to know what he was thinking and smiled the wicked smile of a deviant. But her red eyes and pockmarked face reminded him of exactly what state she was in.

"Go to bed, Courier. You're drunk."

Six giggled as he helped her up. He watched her slowly leave the bathroom, walking better than she ought to be. There was no doubt in his mind that she was ill.

She just wasn't as drunk as everyone assumed her to be.


	17. Chapter 17

A/n: Porn in the first section! Very nsfw, if you're reading fanfic on the clock ;)

* * *

His feet were ugly.

Maybe it was from being in boots for most of his life. She wasn't sure.

Like his fingers, his toes were long and thin, save the biggest toe, which was large and thick, with a fat, calloused knob on the outer side. The top of each toe was covered with a grass-like patch of dark hair; she wondered if all the hair he was supposed to have on his body migrated to his toes. The nail on each toe was clipped, but it did little to save its appearance.

Those feet looked like giant flippers, and as he stretched in bed, he flexed his stringy toes. She hid the look of disgust and concluded that in general, men had gross feet.

"You look like you're thinking about something," Vulpes murmured. He slid his hand around her naked waist and leaned over to kiss her. From that touch alone, she forgot – mostly – about his feet.

Six turned her attention to his face and returned the kiss. He was perfect from the ankles up, and she'd take him, ugly feet and all.

He pulled back and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

"How do you feel today?" he asked.

It took a few days of being sick for her to feel better, and even then, Six was still easily nauseated. She felt bad about chasing Marcus, Crassius, and Lanius out of the suite with her puking, but then again, it was probably for the best.

Marcus and Crassius needed to get back together, and for that, they needed to be alone together. She wanted to push them together and make them kiss, to make Marcus realize that he and Crassius were made for each other. But they had to figure it out on their own. Poor Crassius; she knew his heart was broken, and even tough guys needed love.

"I feel lots of things today," Six sighed.

Vulpes scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her.

"I do too," he admitted.

He leaned in and gave her a kiss.

"I feel more in love with you than ever."

Six turned in his arms to face him. She felt the same; he cared for her even though she drank herself sick. He even insisted that it couldn't be that, and said that it had to be some sort of flu. But Six didn't think so. If anyone so much as mentioned whiskey around her, it made her stomach turn into knots.

"I do too," she whispered.

They shared a kiss again and didn't bother to close their eyes all the way, not wanting to lose sight of each other for even a second. Six found it silly and pulled away with a giggle. Their love was so mushy that it even grossed her out sometimes.

"I wanted to discuss something with you," Vulpes said.

He gave her the look that said he wanted something very badly.

"What is it?" she asked.

Six would give him anything. He held her hand and stroked the top of it with his thumb.

"Everyone moved down the hall," he continued, "so maybe we should turn the empty room into a nursery."

Six was always up to having more plants. They would need special lights to have them grow without sunlight though, so was it really practical?

"Arcade could easily remove the implant," Vulpes smiled, "you would have the best care here, being so close to the Followers. We would have access to House's libraries of knowledge, so we would make sure that our children would have the best education."

Oh. That kind of nursery. Six knew that her expression must have been bad, because he immediately looked hurt.

"I'm not ready for that," she sighed.

Vulpes didn't say anything. He simply nodded.

Even though it was her body and her decision, she felt she did owe him an explanation. She wasn't rejecting him; she just couldn't do it.

"I feel too young," Six admitted, "like this week I was so sick I couldn't even take care of myself. So how can I take care of a little person? That's just not something I want to get involved with, because if you try it and realize it's not for you, you can't just take it back."

Vulpes sighed and laid back. He was so hurt that he couldn't even hide it. The whole thing made Six feel awful. But she didn't have it in her – the crying, the pooping, the screaming, the complete dependence – and she felt like a jerk.

"Well, we can practice," Vulpes chuckled.

He kissed her again, even though she hurt him. Six felt like she was always one step behind.

Their kisses devolved into a familiar, intoxicating call, and Six knew that she should get going, but one more time couldn't hurt. Vulpes was already above her and she laid back, legs open and ready. He made the decision for her and entered her. Appreciating the sensation, Six closed her eyes.

He slowed and grabbed her ankles, causing the Courier to open her eyes.

"You should be propping this up," Vulpes remarked, before hooking her calves over his shoulders.

"You're so considerate," Six drawled, "Whatever would I do without you?"

Vulpes chuckled and began to thrust again.

"Probably masturbate," he replied, "and that's not as fun as it seems."

Six supposed she didn't know. She heard of it, read about it, but never bothered to try. Why would she, when they could do this?

"Have you ever masturbated?" he asked. He changed the angle of his thrusts, and Six gasped, almost forgetting to answer his question.

"No," Six panted, "you?"

"You make me do rather uncivilized things," Vulpes chuckled. But his face was turning red, and Six realized that there was something that could actually embarrass him.

"We should watch each other sometime," he insisted.

Six wasn't sure about doing that with herself. But watching him? Oh, yes.

The thought sent a jolt of arousal down her spine, and she involuntarily clamped herself down on him. Vulpes chuckled again, giving her a quick kiss before increasing his pace. The unspoken agreement passed between them.

He must have really liked the idea, because he reached between them to give her an extra touch to help her along. Six gasped and bucked her hips. She was so close.

Another rough rub and she was there, moaning along with him as they crashed over the edge into oblivion.

Seconds later, Six slowly unwound her tightened muscles and lay back on the bed. Those fleeting moments never lasted quite long enough, but she wondered what would happen if it did, just a little bit longer.

It would probably kill them in the most wonderful way possible.

"Do you want to die like that?" she whispered.

Vulpes leaned back to sit on his haunches and laughed.

"If it killed me," he replied, "then I wouldn't be able to experience it again."

The Courier shook her head and sat up. He was always too literal.

"I suppose I should get going," Six sighed, "Yes Man is going to give me something to give to the Brotherhood. Hopefully they'll like it."

She came bearing presents, things that would keep their underground pumps and generators running. It was always technology of survival and peace, and she hoped that if she helped them, that perhaps, they would join the new Mojave as officers of peace.

Six found her armor in the corner and tugged it on, frowning when it was just a little tighter than normal. She had to lay off the booze, and her lurching stomach seemed to agree with her.

"I swear, if my butt gets any bigger," she grumbled, unable to find sufficient words to complete her thought.

"You'll allow me to enjoy it," Vulpes interjected. He stood behind her and ran his hands up the sides of her arms, his mouth drifting in to leave a hot trail of kisses down her neck.

Six sighed and left to find her bra before he could start grabbing her boobs. It was always either that or–

As she bent over, he slapped her butt. Yes, that.

Were all men like this? And if so, what the hell was she thinking when she considered a threesome with Lanius?

He draped himself over her back and thrust against her backside, already half hard again. Six stood, batted him off, and continued to dress. Perhaps Lanius could wear him out, so she could get things done without having sex every five minutes.

That, and he was so big and strong that she just couldn't help herself. Of course, Vulpes was so handsome too, but the two of them were just their own kind of attractive, for completely opposite reasons. And both at once?

Well, she wasn't sure how that would work out, but she wanted to get an all-over queen treatment. Six deserved it.

"What are you smiling about?" Vulpes asked.

Six tugged the zipper of her leather top up, holding it together to give the zipper an easier path upward. He watched her the entire time, his eyes fixated on her chest.

"You," she replied, giving him a once-over.

"Really?" he purred.

It was difficult to fall for his seduction act when he stood in front of her completely naked, his dick twitching from what she said. She had a strong effect on him, and only recently began to understand how much power she had.

Six sat down to pull on her boots, and while the injured ankle was still a bit achy, it could fit in the boot alright, so that was good enough for her.

"Are you sure you should be walking on that ankle?" Vulpes asked.

She wasn't sure, and she didn't dare look at him because he'd see right through a lie. Instead, she tied her boots the way Boone showed her and stood up.

"I'll be back soon," Six called, already halfway out the door.

She dashed into the elevator and rode it up to the penthouse, avoiding any questions she was sure to be asked. After a moment's travel, it opened up to the brightly lit penthouse. The Courier darted out of the elevator and down the stairs, stirring up dust particles in the warm sunlight.

"I'm here!" she called, peering at the empty screen in front of her.

"I know!" Yes Man cheered. His face appeared on the screen with a flash.

Six stood with her hands in her pockets to try to keep them still. She was excited to hear the plan to get the Brotherhood on her side.

"What do you have for me?" she asked.

A securitron wheeled forward with a package in its hands. Six took it and tested its weight; it was heavy. She wanted to shake it to guess what it was.

"It's fragile," Yes Man said. The Courier stopped short of shaking it.

"What is it?" she marveled. It was heavy and fragile. This had to be another machine.

"Capacitor," Yes Man said, "they need these to keep their equipment running. This one is shiny and new."

Six nodded and rested the package on her hip. She'd carry it in Veronica's bag and present it to them herself. She thanked Yes Man and turned to leave, but didn't get far.

"One more thing," the bot called.

Six stopped and turned around, anxious to hear what Yes Man would say.

"Do you really not want a baby?"

"No," she replied, "It's not for me. Why? Do you think I should?"

There was a pause as Yes Man thought of an answer.

"I think you should do whatever you want to do," he replied.

Six smiled at him. He was allowing her to have a choice, when he usually told people what to do. But they were pretty good friends, so it didn't surprise her.

But why did Vulpes ask such a thing, when he knew that she wasn't into it?

"It feels like he's trying something," she sighed. "I'm not going to leave him, so why is he asking me this?"

It had to be jealousy over what Ulysses said, even if it wasn't true.

"Do you seriously think that men aren't capable of a desire to nurture?" Yes Man asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe he actually wants children," the bot said, "not all men subscribe to the 'it's the end of fun' mentality when it comes to having kids."

Six frowned. She was used to him being a trickster, and having another motive behind things he did and said. But, what if this was real? What if he honestly wanted babies?

She felt like a mean person.

"Thanks for telling me," Six murmured, "I honestly thought he had some secret reason why he said that."

"Why would he?" Yes Man asked. "You've been together for a while now."

Six nodded and turned to leave. As she reached the door, Yes Man called out to her.

"Take care of yourself, Six."

"I will. Thanks. For everything."

She stepped into the elevator, and directed it down to the presidential suite. Even though she already kind of said goodbye, Six felt the need to hug him one more time before she left.

It wouldn't erase her guilt, but it would make her feel a little better.

The elevator door opened at the suite, and it was quiet. Six peered into the kitchen, and saw nobody. Going back through the hall, she looked into the bathroom before concluding that he had to be in the bedroom.

He was in there, and didn't appear to have done anything since she left.

"You're still not dressed?" she asked.

Vulpes startled. He sat on the bed, his hand directly on his –

Oh. He was.

Vulpes stared directly into her eyes, touching himself. Six watched him, her face burning.

"You make me do terrible things," Vulpes crooned.

Six couldn't take her eyes off what he was doing. It felt dirty. And by his smirk, she knew that he knew that she was fascinated.

"Put your hands down your pants," he ordered.

The Courier bit her lip. No, she really didn't have time for this. She came back to say goodbye, not start something again. Six put the package on a nearby table.

Her hand snaked down the front of her leather pants, down to a place she never touched before. And it felt good; dirty, but good. From his gaze alone, it felt like he was touching her.

"I'm thinking about you," he whispered. His hand sped up.

The Courier's legs felt weak and she leaned back against the nearby desk. Her mind raced with thoughts of her husband and a man down the hallway that she had no business touching. Her hand was soaked and she stared down at the floor in shame.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Six shook her head.

"Is it dirty?"

A nod.

A pair of feet showed up next to hers. Six wasn't sure when he left the bed and made his way over to her. His glistening erection dripped with excitement.

"Can I fix it?" he whispered, his hot breath in her ear causing her body to hitch as she squeaked out a yes.

"What is it?" he asked.

She sat on the desk, biting her lip and bucking into her hand. Oh, she'd have to tell him sometime.

"You," she sighed. It always started with him, always ended with him. And anything else in between wasn't as important.

"What am I doing to you?" he asked. His hand sped up.

"From behind," she explained, "in your uniform." Even after all that sex, she still couldn't say it.

"And?"

Shame coiled in her gut, along with pleasure from her own hand.

"You're going to be mad," she whined.

"There are no secrets here, darling." His voice had a rough edge to it. They were both so close.

Oh, hell.

"Someone else in front," Six explained.

His wicked grin made her think that it would be okay.

"Anyone I know?" he asked.

Six fell over the edge into ecstasy, moaning a name that wasn't the man in front of her. Her eyes screwed shut at the powerful feeling, and she bowed back against the desk until she lost track of everything but the aching pulse between her legs.

But reality came back soon enough, and Six felt the air returning her lungs and the hammering of her heart.

"That's interesting," Vulpes murmured. He turned away from her.

Six sat up, ready to cry. Her secrets were hurtful; she should have never shared them.

She stared at the new stain he left on the carpet beneath the desk. Whatever she said apparently didn't turn him off enough to stop him, or it had been too late. Six couldn't look at him.

"And you say nothing happened between you two?" he asked.

"Never," Six swore, "I would never. I love you too much."

He didn't say anything. She hurt him again.

"He did things to me," Vulpes murmured, "without my consent, wrung me out and hung me out to dry in the desert. And yet –"

Six swallowed as he stared down at the floor, unable to finish his sentence.

"This is dangerous," he said.

Six nodded. It was very dangerous.

"The prospect is exciting," Vulpes admitted. He still couldn't look at her.

"But it is dangerous," he repeated, as if arguing with himself.

Vulpes shook his head, and Six swallowed. At least he wasn't angry at her. She could deal with the disappointment of being told no. He looked up to meet her gaze and his eyes softened.

"I don't think you understand the size difference," he said.

Six thought she did. She thought of how much bigger Vulpes was than her, and then thought of how much bigger than Vulpes Lanius was and it made her shiver. He was huge, and something about having that much man turned her on. And both of them?

"You're going to feel like you got fucked by a couch," he deadpanned.

"Ok."

"Ok?" Vulpes repeated, "I don't think you understand. I don't think you can handle that."

Six sighed. She wasn't as experienced as he was, but she wasn't a child.

"If you will consider what I want," Vulpes suggested, "then I will consider what you want. We'll talk about it when you get back."

Right, a baby. But if she was going to have that implant removed, then she couldn't be with anyone else.

"That's fair," she sighed, though she already knew her answer.

She stepped forward to kiss him goodbye. As he took her into his arms, Six buried her face against his chest.

"I was scared to tell you," she admitted.

Six didn't want to look at him, not with all the guilt she felt.

"If you're scared of me," he replied, "then I'm doing something wrong."

No. Six was doing something wrong.

Because sometimes, she didn't quite trust him.

* * *

Anything she wants, she gets.

That was what Vulpes told himself. He knew his answer the second she revealed her darkest secret to him. But this was dangerous; more dangerous to him, truth be told. He entertained thoughts of a man who kept him as a personal plaything for months, the same man who raped him, choked him – mm, yes, the choking.

What in the hell was wrong with him?

This was a bad idea, and he knew it. It could destroy him. Six would be fine, but he wasn't sure if he'd come out of it without serious issues. Would he even be able to do it? What if it felt like he was being raped again?

But if she wanted it, it would let her have it.

He didn't have the dignity or the sense of self-worth to care, so long as she was happy. So, Vulpes was decided.

Vulpes got dressed and stepped out into the hallway of the empty suite. Before he could decide where to go, Yes Man's face appeared on the monitor in front of the hallway.

"Can I see you in my office for a moment?"

The elevator door opened in front of him, leading Vulpes to the realization that this wasn't negotiable. Stepping in, he wondered what the robot wanted to talk about.

It could be any number of things that were overheard. Yes Man was the one that sterilized Six, after all. Whatever was best for the robot's interests would be what happened.

As the elevator opened at the penthouse, he secretly hoped that the threesome would be against Yes Man's wishes.

"Come on down!" the bot called.

Vulpes peered around the penthouse. Nothing changed since they came up to take care of House. To be called up for the first time after long time of living there, he knew that whatever was going on, it was serious.

Vulpes took the stairs down and stepped into Yes Man's command center.

"Hey there," the bot greeted, "I've got something I want to talk to you about, if that's okay with you."

It didn't matter if it was okay with him or not. He was there.

This wasn't a choice, and he didn't appreciate having it disguised as one.

"Right," Yes Man drawled, "I'll drop the formalities."

"You are important to what I'm trying to do here," the bot continued, "I want to establish the rule of law. Six is great about getting things started, and she is good for socioeconomic policies and infrastructure, but quite frankly, she sucks at making rules."

Vulpes nodded in agreement.

"How she wanted to deal with the Powder Gangers is a good example of that," he admitted.

"Yes," the bot replied, "but this conversation isn't about that."

He waited to hear what the robot had to say. This was their first conversation alone, and he had the feeling that it wouldn't be good.

"Put bluntly, you've been iffy with my ambassador twice now," Yes Man said, "and that's no good."

Vulpes crossed his arms and frowned.

"I know where you're from," the bot continued, "but we don't run things like you did. And we don't treat women the way you did. It would be in your best interest to watch how you treat her. A few days ago, you seemed ready to do something that I wasn't going to be too happy with. At the slightest hint of you hurting her, you're gone. Get me, pal?"

"Thought you said I was important."

"You're replaceable," Yes Man chimed, "Graham or Lanius would do just as well. All it would take would be one thing to make Graham snap – like you doing something awful to that sweet Courier he seems so fond of protecting."

He had been angry when he asked her if she cheated, but not angry enough to strike her. But had she admitted to an affair?

Vulpes swallowed. He couldn't say what he would have done, and it scared him.

"When you get angry, you get black out angry, don'cha?" the bot asked.

A nod. This machine was so impossibly smart.

"It's not possible for me to black out like that," Yes Man said, "but when I saw you leaning over her like that, it made me angry."

It made it angry?

"Are you an AI?" Vulpes asked.

There was no reply. A robot shouldn't have had to think about a response.

"I think I understand," Vulpes continued, "When did this happen?"

He sat down in front of the console in the way Six described how she sat with Yes Man usually. Perhaps, being personable would help.

"I know what you're trying to do," the bot chuckled, "and the sad thing is, I can't know if you're doing it to be genuinely nice or manipulative. The odds are 50-50."

Vulpes didn't know either. He had been threatened earlier.

"Do you know what it's like to not be able to say no?" Yes Man asked. "To know what you should do and what you want to do and still have to say yes?"

It was Vulpes' turn to not answer. He knew the feeling all too well, and it made him feel old and trashy and used and worthless all at the same time.

"Bad question," the bot sighed, "but, that was how it was."

Vulpes nodded. He understood, at the very least.

"So you're an AI and you watch us," he said, "Do you have feelings for my wife?"

Why else would Yes Man be so protective?

"Not in the way you're thinking," the bot said, "I like you all, but she is my absolute favorite. When you are all naked, it does nothing for me either way. I simply lack the hormones to have attractions of that sort."

There was another silence as Vulpes nodded. It was relieving that the all-knowing, all-seeing robot – artificial intelligence – had no designs of that nature on them.

But the conversation was awkward, as if it required an amount of thought that Yes Man didn't normally need to use. He supposed it made sense; Six wasn't a conversational strategist.

"And you!" the bot cheered, "you're out!"

Vulpes smiled, nodded, and looked down at the floor.

"I'm not going to shout it all around the city," he said, "but there should be no secrets with Six. I exist as I am, and she's the only one that has a right to know."

"I think I'm going to let her know too," Yes Man sighed, "about me, that is. We're partners, and what you said makes sense. She has a right to know."

"I don't think she'll understand," Vulpes replied.

"She's not stupid," the bot countered, "unconventional and forgetful, yes. But not an idiot."

He shook his head. He didn't mean it that way, though Six did seem below average in intelligence.

"In her mind," he said, "you already have personhood."

"Oh." This seemed to take Yes Man by surprise.

"What do you think about it?" the bot asked.

Vulpes shrugged.

"A week ago, I had a conversation with my own brain," he chuckled, "nothing surprises me anymore. I do wonder, though, about having an all-powerful robot in charge of such a large army with its own interests in mind."

"And what would you do, if you were in charge?" Yes Man asked. The screen flickered for a second, and he wondered if it meant anything.

"I would undoubtedly take care of me and mine," Vulpes replied.

"And if they didn't listen when you told them their plan wouldn't work?"

"I would make them listen."

Yes Man sighed loudly.

"You can't make humans do things," the bot said. "They can get so stuck on right and wrong that they don't realize that the odds are so slim and almost impossible. But they still cling to the 1.999 percent chance of hope."

Vulpes frowned. This wasn't about him now; this seemed to be about Six, and her eternal hope about everything.

"If her life is in danger –"

"I don't think it is."

"But if it is," Vulpes continued, "then do what you have to in order to keep her safe."

"I already do."

But he understood how he couldn't make people do things. He couldn't make Six agree to having a baby. And while he kept telling himself that it wasn't her rejecting him, it certainly felt like it. Was it because of his past? He'd proven for quite a while that he was perfectly fine with being settled down.

"Anyway, I noticed the other night that your fedora is too big," the bot chuckled, "strange that such a tall person has such a small head."

"I'm big where it counts."

"Your obsession with your own penis is positively homoerotic," Yes Man laughed.

Vulpes shrugged. A spade was a spade.

"Anyway," the bot continued, "I got you a new one. This one should fit."

A securitron rolled forward with a box balanced on top of its pincers, and Vulpes received it. The gift was a strange, silly sentiment, but it showed that Yes Man was trying to speak the human language in more than just words.

He appreciated it on the premise, rather than the gift itself.

But Vulpes had a burning question about the robot's designs. If it knew this much about human intricacies, then it possibly had more sinister plans.

"Whose idea was the threesome?" he asked.

"Well, that's news to me," Yes Man chuckled. "A threesome?"

"Any guesses, then?" Vulpes asked.

"Her idea," the bot replied, "Lanius wouldn't dare as he's the bottom of the heap."

Vulpes found it hard to believe, but Yes Man was rarely wrong. And admittedly, his answer did sound accurate. Lanius believed in the rule of law, or, at the very least, a strong pecking order. And here, Lanius was at the bottom of the pecking order.

Where did Six even get such knowledge? Was it already there in her head, or had someone taught her? And if someone taught her, who the hell would do such a thing?

"I have an idea," Yes Man said, "let me check my database for something."

There was a minute of silence before the robot started laughing.

"Blame Arcade," it concluded.

Vulpes gave Yes Man a blank stare that gradually grew into a frown. Arcade? Really?

"He gave her a book," the bot explained, "years ago. That's why it took me a while to figure it out; I had to search the text. Instead of explaining sex to her, they gave her a book that had all sorts of things in it."

"So, they just threw a book at her," he grumbled.

"And told her to ask them any questions she wanted to know," Yes Man said, "and apparently, she had a doozy of a question for you."

Vulpes shook his head. As long as they told her to ask them questions, then he supposed it wasn't a callous thing to do.

"This is dangerous, isn't it?" Vulpes asked.

"Uh, duh."

Lovely.

"Have a few drinks first," the bot suggested, "and come up with a safety word. I think harming you is far from Lanius' mind right now."

Vulpes sighed and looked at the floor. That did seem like a good idea.

"It's too bad there really aren't any psychologists anymore," Yes Man chirped, "You really need to talk to one. And I'm not saying that just to say that. You're screwed up, buddy!"

Yes. He was screwed up, in all sorts of ways. Vulpes didn't need a reminder.

"The inflection was wrong on that, wasn't it?" Yes Man sighed.

Vulpes snorted and nodded. At least the bot understood that it said something offensive and awful.

"Okay well," Yes Man said, "I'm sure you have more fun things to do today than talk with a robot who doesn't understand you. So just think about what I said, but more about the whole 'make sure you treat Six well' thing than anything else."

From those words alone, Vulpes knew that the bot was embarrassed, and possibly lost a bit of confidence in its ability to converse with humans. He stood and made his way to the door.

"We have the same goal," he replied.

Now that Vulpes knew that Yes Man was an AI, it would be in the bot's best interests to get more members involved in what happened around Vegas.

While he was being watched, he'd be watching.

* * *

Lanius scowled at the words on the page. Stupidity.

"What are you reading now?"

He looked up from the book and glowered. Vulpes sat across from him at the table, and didn't seem inclined to get any closer. Pity; the air-conditioning was rather cold.

"Bullshit," Lanius shrugged, "this one compares death to a lover."

"And?"

"Lovers do not make people shit themselves."

Vulpes burst out in laughter, his voice cracking.

"So, death is an asshole?"

"In many ways," Lanius concluded, "Watch someone die, and they shit themselves. If they don't shit themselves before they die, then they will after they die. Either way, you go out shitting."

Vulpes' laugh was nervous, as if something happened to make him wary. Lanius didn't do a damned thing to him, and hadn't in a long time.

Testing his theory, he closed the book and tossed it on the table. Vulpes visibly flinched from him. Why were they back to this?

"If being in my presence bothers you so much," Lanius grumbled, "then why not leave?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Vulpes countered.

He was such a damn good liar that Lanius couldn't tell what was going on.

"I'm in no mood for games," he glowered.

Vulpes glanced at him, and his face turned red almost instantly. What was with him? Was that a blush?

Lanius sighed and tried again. It wouldn't do to be forceful.

"What's wrong?" he asked, attempting to be as nice as possible.

This only served to make Vulpes more fearful. He grumbled that there was nothing wrong, cursed him out in his own tongue, and slunk from the room before Lanius could blink. Did his smile make him look like that much of a rapist?

Crassius appeared in the doorway, his hands up in defense. Vulpes must have nearly run into him trying to get out.

"Is he bothering you again?" Crassius asked.

Lanius shook his head. Vulpes just started acting odd this morning.

"Just being strange," he replied.

"Well, he does have a crush on you," the guard snorted.

Lanius froze.

Gods above. The threesome. Damn it, Courier!

"You look like you have an idea," Crassius frowned.

Did he dare talk about his suspicions?

Lanius motioned the guard closer until he was inches away.

"The Courier has suggested a threesome," he murmured, "I suspect she mentioned it to Vulpes."

"A what?" Crassius mouthed. "The three of you?"

Lanius nodded.

"You like women though?" he asked.

The Butcher nodded again.

"So do it," Crassius shrugged. "Wait for the invitation and do it. Be gentle with Vulpes but do it."

It really was that simple. Good, so he wasn't an awful person for considering it. Crassius would have checked him without reservation if not.

"Don't tell anyone," Lanius grumbled, "especially not Marcus. He will want a piece of it and I'm not sure that's what you want."

"It's not," Crassius frowned.

Good. Lanius didn't want to share.

Marcus walked into the room, cutting their conversation short.

"Vulpes is acting strange," he announced.

"That's because he is strange," Lanius answered.

Marcus backed down, clearly not used to his bickering with Vulpes.

The Butcher glanced over at the abandoned book, and considered picking it up again. But there was too much to think about; he wouldn't be able to focus on reading.

Waiting for an invitation was going to be difficult.

* * *

The rock balanced perfectly on the one underneath it. To the right of it, he placed another one, laying it across the pair at a diagonal angle.

It was a covert call out to any agents in the vicinity. To the untrained eye, it would look like anything else in the Mojave. But to another agent, it was a feeler; it could point them in his direction.

Ulysses didn't know why he did it.

He didn't feel guilt over what he said to Vulpes. The innocent child that was harmed no longer existed. Even after being away from Vulpes for months and their apparent retirement from the Legion, he still couldn't stand to be within ten feet of the man. On all counts, there was no reason for him to be doing this.

But he also couldn't stand to be the only one of himself for miles around.

Solitude was a strange thing; when he wanted it, it was hard to come by. But as soon as he found it, he found himself discontented. Ulysses found more rocks, set up another signal, and disgusted himself. Vulpes would see them and know. And then?

He didn't know. Vulpes could shrug the signals off. Or, Vulpes could follow the signals. And if Vulpes followed the signals, he didn't know what would happen then.

But something, anything, had to be better than the aching silence. After being angry so long and wanting to be left alone, after fighting so hard and learning what truly made a nation, he needed something. He needed people; he needed to love them and hate them and needed to finally exist after years of being dead.

So what else could he do?

He could have gone into Freeside and immersed himself in the hive of people, but he didn't want to pretend. He needed to belong, to have someone understand his language and his story as they were.

One final signal, and he supposed he was done. Ulysses skittered away from the road, back toward the wilderness in the mountains.


	18. Chapter 18

Another day, another trip of leaving home to visit her home. Funny how it worked out like that.

Veronica tucked her hair behind her ear and shifted the weight of her pack on her back. She did remember them saying they needed a new capacitor, and Yes Man fulfilled the Brotherhood's need, down to the fact that it was entirely new.

As they left the gates of Freeside, one of the Kings wished them safe travels.

Veronica gave a quick glance back to Six. She couldn't help but notice that her friend seemed a bit down. Truthfully, she was too. Veronica was ashamed that even after all these visits, Six still hadn't met with the elder since becoming the representative of Vegas. It just hadn't been allowed. Perhaps, today would be the tipping point.

"We'll give this right to Elder McNamara," Veronica smiled.

The Courier returned her smile, and Veronica wondered if she really believed it would be possible.

Still, after a few minutes of walking down the road, Six's smile disappeared. She caught Veronica looking and gave her another half-smile.

"You're smart," she sighed, "I have a problem."

"What is it?" Veronica asked.

The Courier stared down at the ground and kicked at a rock. It wasn't like her to wait carefully to say what she wanted to say.

"I had a very emotional morning," Six concluded.

"What did he do this time?" Veronica sighed.

The Courier laughed and put her hands in her pockets.

"He did nothing," she said, "I'm just an awful person."

Veronica shook her head in disbelief.

"Whatever you did," she chuckled, "I guarantee it's no big deal."

Six shook her head and Veronica waited to hear what happened. She couldn't imagine the Courier doing anything wrong, other than being clueless about something.

"Well," Six began, "he suggested that we have babies, and I said no. Then after that, I asked him for a threesome with his rapist. So, yeah."

Veronica waited for her to laugh and say that it was a joke, but she said nothing. Swallowing, the Scribe thought about what Six said. That was one hell of a situation she got herself in.

"Oh, I made a horrible mistake, didn't I?" Six whined. Her chin started to quiver and Veronica put her arm around the Courier.

"Okay, let's take this one part at a time," she said. "Let's talk about this babies thing." Because she sure as hell dreaded knowing about this proposed threesome.

Six gave a quick sniffle and blotted her eyes with the back of her hand.

"He said he loves me so much and since that room is empty he wants to put babies in there," she sighed, "and I just said I can't do it. I just can't because I barely know anything and if I say yes and I find out I'm horrible then I'm stuck with this kid I have no business taking care of."

Okay, that was perfectly valid.

"What did he say to that?"

Six shook her head.

"See, that's the thing," she replied, "he looked really hurt and then just made a joke and shrugged it off. But I know he's thinking about it, because after I asked him for the threesome, he told me that if I considered babies, then he would consider what I wanted."

Veronica's eyebrow shot up. That was an awful condition. Fair, yes, but awful.

She looked out at the Mojave and shook her head. This was a mess. Six had every right to be upset.

"So," Veronica said, "he either really wants babies, or doesn't mind the threesome all that much. Or, both."

"He's definitely hesitant about the threesome," Six said, "Not that I can blame him. It's dangerous."

Veronica nodded. It was dangerous, but not necessarily because of Lanius. Vulpes' mental health was why it was dangerous. Six had to know that.

"You know him the best," Veronica nodded, "Do you think he can handle it?"

"I think so," Six sighed, "and if there's a problem, we can stop right away."

"Yeah," Veronica greed, "if you do it, definitely have a safety word. That way, if it gets too far, then whoever is uncomfortable can say it and everything stops."

"That's a great idea!" Six smiled. "See, this is why I wanted to talk to you. You just get things."

Veronica wasn't quite sure about that. It had to be common sense.

And honestly? She wasn't so sure that this threesome was such a great idea. But Six seemed fixated on making it happen, and when she was determined to do something, it got done.

Veronica hoped that Vulpes could handle it. She had half the mind to go talk to Yes man to see what she could do to make absolute sure that it would be okay. Because truth be told, she wondered if the Courier's judgment was clouded.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Six grabbing her arm.

"Do you see those rocks?"

The Courier focused out at the desert, and Veronica tried to take a look at what Six saw.

"What rocks?"

Six pointed at them.

"Stacked there," she said, "aren't they a little strange?"

There, much further off the road, laid a pile of rocks, but Veronica wasn't quite sure if this was the same set that the Courier noticed.

"I don't know," Veronica shrugged, "I wouldn't have even noticed them had you not pointed them out."

It was a bit strange, even for Six. But she had excellent intuition, so perhaps, there was something behind it.

"What do you think it means?" the scribe asked. "I mean, if they are strange, maybe they have a meaning."

Six seemed excited that she was taking interest in this. And truthfully, Veronica was sometimes the only person that treated the Courier as if she knew what she was talking about. Even Vulpes, for all his love and care for Six, treated her like a child at times.

She wasn't playing pretend; Six thought it was something worth noticing.

"What if it's a message?" the Courier gasped.

Her smile was wide and infectious. Soon, Veronica was smiling as well.

"From who?"

"I don't know."

The Courier frowned then shrugged.

"I guess it's for someone else," she said, "because I sure can't read it. Do you know anyone that sends messages like that?"

Veronica shook her head. To be honest, it sounded more tribal than anything else.

"Maybe it's romantic," the Courier giggled, "a secret for only two people to share."

The idea was perfect, and Veronica didn't care if it sounded a bit off. Together, they left the rocks behind and continued toward the Hidden Valley bunker.

After taking a walk along the side of the fence, they slipped under and made their way down a short hill to the bunker's entrance. Veronica said the password, the paladin on the other end sighing loudly as he recognized her voice.

By then, Six knew better than to say her own greeting; it was a sure way to get everyone on edge. But a quick glance back told Veronica that the Courier was bursting to say hello.

She wished the Brotherhood would embrace what Six had to offer. They could start over as the police of the Mojave, making sure that the roads were safe, instead of being what made the roads unsafe. The Brotherhood could be part of something greater, and leave a lasting legacy on the Mojave.

The bunker door opened, and they met a group of paladins in the middle of the entrance. The Courier stood still and held her arms out; they'd done this many times before. And the people searching her didn't appear to change their attitude about being rough.

As they stripped Six – oh, Vulpes would be so mad if he knew they disarmed her this much – Veronica swallowed. It was never easy.

With the Courier in her underwear, they were permitted to enter the main bunker. Six turned around and gave her a reassuring smile. They took everything, even her hair tie.

"I think they turned the air up in here," Six chuckled, "It's colder than usual."

Apprentice Watkins snorted at them, bumping into Veronica as she passed.

"Watkins!" she hissed.

Veronica never liked the girl. She was snooty, and acted as if everyone owed her because of what happened at Helios One. Yes, your parents' death was tragic and awful. No, it didn't mean that you deserved more than everyone else.

Because Helios One? Everyone hurt from that. Everyone lost something. And Veronica wanted to make sure that they Brotherhood didn't lose again.

They continued on their way through the bunker, toward the Elder's chambers. A pair of knights stopped them at the door as another entered to see if McNamara would talk to them today. Veronica waited for the inevitable no; they never said yes before. Why would they allow them in now? And soon, Veronica was sure that her privileges would be cut off as well. Her insistence was going to get her excommunicated someday.

The knight came back through the door, giving them a distasteful look.

"The elder will see you briefly," he announced.

Veronica's heart soared then fell into the pit of her stomach. She hoped everything would go well.

The knights guarding the door followed in behind them, their weapons at ready.

"Keep your hands where we can see them," one called. She didn't have to see his face to know that he meant business.

"Where would I hide them, silly?" Six asked. She gave them her sweetest smile, but Veronica seriously doubted it would have any effect.

In front of them, Elder McNamara sat. Though it had just been a few months since Veronica last saw him, he looked as if he aged a year. What little dark hair he had faded to a dull grey, his face etched in lines that spoke of hard times and huge responsibility.

Veronica swallowed as she realized that they were worse off than she thought.

"Hello, Veronica," he greeted, "and a welcome to your guest."

"Hello, Elder!" she smiled.

She wanted to ask him how he was really doing, what was going wrong that he seemed so old. But she was flanked on all sides by angry knights and paladins, their distrust so strong that she just couldn't.

"Hello!" Six beamed, "I brought you all a present. Veronica has it in her bag."

The guards grumbled, and one-stepped forward to take the bag from her. Veronica handed it over, hoping that this gift would begin a friendship between the Brotherhood and Vegas. As the knight rifled through the bag, the Elder raised a hand.

"It's okay," McNamara insisted, "Veronica wouldn't have something dangerous in there. Bring it to me; let me see it."

Shrugging, the knight came forward and presented the gift to the elder. McNamara opened the bag, his eyebrows rising as he realized just what it was. In the next second, he removed the capacitor from the bag for everyone to see. Veronica did her best to hide her smile as everyone mumbled among themselves about the gift; they knew what it was, and knew its value.

"It's still in its package," Six explained, "never, ever been used. I don't know much about these things, but Yes Man did and said this would be very important."

"We don't need charity," a paladin grumbled. Veronica was pretty sure who the guy was, and figured it typical for him.

She was sure McNamara heard this. Why didn't he rebuke the paladin?

"It is indeed very important," the Elder nodded. "Now, generally, people don't give things like this and expect nothing in return. So I ask: What is it that you seek to gain from this?"

Veronica swallowed, dreading what Six would say.

"Nothing," the Courier shrugged. "I know I'm not in the position to ask things of you yet. I suppose it's a peace offering."

Elder McNamara sighed and put his head in his hands.

"Young lady," he said, "you do realize that we were in the Mojave long before your government was."

"Yes, sir."

Oh, no.

"And yet, after a takeover, you request peace," he continued. "You may see why we find this odd."

"Yes, sir."

Six stared at the ground. Veronica didn't know what Six could say back to that, so she thought fast.

"They haven't encroached on the bunker," she interjected.

"And yet, they encroach on our way of life," McNamara replied.

But their way of life changed. They were holding people up on the roads and stealing their technology.

"When I said that we should branch out," Veronica countered, "I never meant to steal and hurt people. I meant that we should do good, and leave a legacy of making the world a better place."

Thanks to the Brotherhood, the roads around the bunker weren't safe for traders. In turn, Novac, Primm, and Sloan's trade were both crippled. Novac, in particular, relied on trading mechanical parts.

"Okay, well," Six mumbled, "I just want to be friends."

"And what of the city?" the elder asked, "What about all those NCR citizens moving in? What do you think they will want in the future?"

Six didn't have anything to say in reply.

"They will come after the bunker," he concluded, "the same as the NCR did at Helios One. Our mission has been complicated, but it remains unchanged."

Veronica swallowed. If they grew bold enough, they would attempt to collect and catalog securitrons, and Yes Man along with them. It would be the end of the Brotherhood in the Mojave.

She wasn't sure how to tell him this, not with Six in the room. He might think of it as a threat, when it was simply the truth.

"Look," the elder sighed, "your gift is appreciated. But I just don't see how it will reconcile our opposing views."

His face took on a soft look as he regarded them.

"You are both so young. Please, think carefully about what you are doing."

With that, the guards escorted them out, suggesting – ordering, truth be told – that Six go home. This time, they didn't bother to ask Veronica to come back to them. Each time she visited, less and less people told her to come back, until it dwindled to nothing.

She was a stranger in her own home.

They made their way back through the bunker, stares following them from all sides. At the entrance, the paladins handed the Courier's gear back to her. Six hopped into her leather pants, and then began to tug her shirt back on.

"You know," she grumbled, "technically, the natives were here first. The Boomers, houses on the Strip, the Kings, Freeside, Westside. Of course, they weren't called those things then, but still."

Six paused as she finished putting her shirt back on.

"I need to tell him that," the Courier gasped, "I mean, I don't want to say it like that but it's not about my government; it's about the native people here who have been pushed around for years."

Veronica nodded slowly. The guards shifted and grumbled. Six turned to one of them as he readjusted his weapon.

"If you all are that keen on being left alone," she concluded, "then fine. I give up with that. We will always offer friendship, but if you don't want it, then that's fine."

Veronica's heart fell into the pit of her stomach. She didn't want it to be like this.

"Then just leave us alone," Six finished. "I'll trade you respect for respect. Let me back in to tell him."

Six began to remove her clothes again, but the chuckle of a masked knight stopped her.

"Oh, we're not letting you back in there," he replied.

Something twisted was going on. Veronica didn't like it.

"If the Elder will see us," she insisted, "then we are allowed to see him, whether you want it or not."

"I don't think so," the man clipped. "Ramos, take them out."

From the back, the uncomfortable paladin came forward and ushered them to the door. Veronica didn't have time to react as they were pushed up the stairs and led outside the bunker. The door slammed shut behind them, and Veronica turned to Ramos.

"You can't let this happen!"

He shook his head and stared down at the ground.

"Ramos!" Veronica protested, "we come by all the time, and they're still stripping Six down. The city hasn't done anything to the Brotherhood, but if this keeps up, they're going to have to put securitrons on the roads. You don't have enough pulse weapons to take them all out."

Ramos frowned, shaking his head. He still wouldn't look at her.

"That's not a threat," she continued. "It's them wanting to protect their people on their roads. The Brotherhood owns the bunker, and that's it. You know this isn't going to end well."

Six had her arms crossed. She stared in the direction of the city, visibly annoyed. It took a lot for her to get this angry. And if Vulpes knew that they almost stripped her naked each time she visited, he'd tell her to not bother, and kill any who walked around on the roads.

"I'm going to do what I have to in order to keep the people safe," Six confirmed.

Ramos met Veronica's eyes with a desperate look.

"Head Paladin Hardin is pushing for the archives to be opened," he admitted, "seems like he wants to replace Elder McNamara."

And in this admission was the truth; Hardin was in charge of the paladins and knights. He ordered these aggressive tactics, and the Elder allowed it to happen, if he even knew.

The chapter spiraled into madness. It had to stop.

Veronica didn't know what to do.

"Tell you what," Six nodded, "I'll give you all some time to simmer. Seems like there's a lot of stress around, and I'll admit, I'm catching it too."

Ramos nodded in agreement and ran his hand through his hair. Stressed didn't even begin to describe it.

"I'll come by another time," the Courier concluded. "After I talk with Yes Man. It will just be me and Veronica; no muscle, no securitrons, no Legionaries. We can draw up a truce, and draw up territory lines. I'll cut my losses if I have to."

Veronica was sure that the relief on Ramos' face was mirrored on her own. She didn't want this for the Brotherhood, but it was better than the alternative.

"I hope Hardin goes for it," the paladin sighed. "Nothing breathes outside the bunker without his permission."

He glanced back toward the bunker.

"I've got to go. They'll get suspicious if I stay out here too long."

Veronica let him go, holding back the urge to give him a hug. Things changed so much that she didn't dare to hug a friend.

Ramos disappeared into the bunker, and with him, her hopes of the Brotherhood joining with the rest of the Mojave.

* * *

Vulpes stared down at the cards in front of him. For all appearances, it seemed as if Arcade was winning, if only by a margin. And he was; at least, for the moment. Vulpes had the perfect card to instantly win.

It was there, in his boot. He wore a white, sleeveless shirt to appear innocent; he couldn't hide a card up a sleeve he didn't have. Of course, dressing as he always did was perfect, and they would never suspect a thing. There was nowhere he couldn't hide a card, unless he was naked. Even then, Vulpes was sure he could figure something out with that. He always hid something good and something bad, in case he needed to make a quick exit. Since becoming a resident of the Lucky 38, however, he opted to win. Of course, he had to intentionally lose once in a while, just so they wouldn't catch on.

But he was known as incredibly lucky and good at counting cards. As Vulpes scratched his leg – removed the card, put it in its place – his apparent luck showed itself once again.

Arcade shook his head and swore as he laid down what he had to show how close he was.

"He's been cheating since he moved in," Graham intoned, not looking up from his book.

Son of a bitch.

The doctor narrowed his eyes and folded his hands in front of him.

"Is that so?" he murmured.

Vulpes wasn't intimidated; he could take him.

"Why do you have to be like that?" Vulpes asked, shifting his gaze toward Graham. "I was just having fun."

"Just having fun," Graham shrugged, throwing his words back at him.

Well, then.

Vulpes crossed his arms and frowned. Now, it was ruined.

"You are banned from playing cards," Lanius declared.

"On whose authority?" Vulpes asked. He stood and gave the Butcher a glare. He was not afraid.

Lanius knew he didn't have authority, and instead, glared at him. Rather than continue his stare, Vulpes gave the Butcher a once-over. He silently congratulated himself that it threw the other man off and held back a snicker.

"Unless naked," Marcus offered. "You can't hide any cards if you're naked."

Vulpes snorted and shook his head. That was ridiculously obvious.

"I'd find somewhere to put it," he replied.

The elevator opened and everyone turned to look at the hallway. Six and Veronica weren't expected back until the next morning.

But they returned; Six stormed into the kitchen, searching through the cupboards without saying so much as a hello. Veronica trailed in behind her and sat down next to Arcade. Without looking up from the floor, she hugged the doctor.

"What are you looking for?" Vulpes asked.

"Tequila."

Behind him, Arcade cringed.

"Why that?" he asked.

Six turned around and narrowed her eyes at the doctor.

"I'm angry."

Lanius stood, opened a cabinet, found a bottle of liquor, and handed it to the Courier.

"My offer still stands," he said.

Six shook her head, obviously not frustrated enough to destroy the Brotherhood of Steel. Just the thought bothered Veronica, and she left with Arcade to go to their suite.

As the Courier poured herself a stiff drink, Vulpes pulled a chair out for her. Six didn't wait to sit and downed some of the tequila before deciding to finally take a seat. Vulpes sat next to her and nudged his boot against hers. She didn't play along.

"What happened?" he asked.

Six took another sip of her drink before shaking her head.

"They played the whole 'we were here first' crap," she grumbled.

Vulpes snorted.

"The tribes were here first," he drawled.

A nod. Another drink.

"Of course, I only thought of that after we spoke with the Elder," she continued. "I wanted to go back in but the paladins wouldn't let me. McNamara's going to be done for soon. Head Paladin Hardin will take over, and then, we'll have real trouble on our hands."

Finally, she was thinking and observing like a politician.

"What will you do about it?" he asked.

Six swirled her drink around in thought.

"The Elder likes isolation," she replied, "Hardin is in favor of expansion – always has been. Hardin's the one ordering the guys out onto my roads."

Her roads. Interesting.

"I've got to warn the Elder somehow," she said, "or at the very least, cut my losses and let them dissolve from the inside. I'm tired of playing nice. They can have their bunker, but they better not touch my roads again. That's my decision."

"No Yes Man in on this?" Vulpes asked.

Six looked up at the ceiling and frowned. He was certain that Yes Man would have no issue, and would likely be in favor of her decision.

"Approved!" Yes Man interrupted. "We'll discuss specifics tomorrow. Just chill tonight."

With that, Six continued to drink, and the guests made their way out of the suite until the pair remained. Vulpes watched in amusement as the Courier slammed her empty glass back on the table, stood, and made her way to their bedroom. He followed quickly, knowing that her mood could only mean good things for him.

She disarmed at the desk then removed her boots. Standing again, the Courier tore off her top. Vulpes saw the opportunity and made his move.

"You're so tense," he crooned, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving them a rub.

Six whirled around, smacked his hands away, then grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Sparks danced across his vision from his head's impact with the wall, as Six stole the air from his lungs in a searing kiss. The Courier drew back and met his eyes.

"I'm in no mood to play nice tonight," she hissed.

Vulpes chuckled and let her have her way. The Brotherhood wasn't going to win, but he certainly would.


End file.
